FortuneCookie Dreams
by CallingInDead
Summary: New girl in town, Eddie Blake's niece, nicknamed Murphy after Murphy's Law & her uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the right time. She's intent on helping the Watchmen get to the bottom of the murder. Rorschach/OC. M for language and later chap.
1. Factory Produced Fortune

I do not own Watchmen.

Character appearance is based more off the movie. But the plot will be a mixture of both the movie and the comic.

As I said, I do not own Watchmen but I do own Dezzi and her character and so on and so forth. Enjoy. Tell me how you like it ;]

* * *

"_You have great ability, but it lies dormant until a serious crisis awakens you"_

The small slip of white paper spoke my factory produced fortune to me as its former cookie coffin crunched between my teeth. Bob Dylan's rasping voice statics overhead through the crummy diner speakers. _The Times They Are A-Changin'_ skips slightly as a truck pulls up to the newspaper stand outside. Tossing a couple of dollars down on the table for the pregnant teen I had as a waitress I stand and flatten down my burnt trench coat shoving my hands in the pockets feeling the cool steal of the different knives and the fortune smashed down to the bottom corner.

Bob fades out as I step into the bustling street of this decrepit city. It's a greasy spot on the map of the world. The worst part: it knows it and seems to be proud of the stain it's causing on the globe. A young male reading a pirate comic glances up at me doing a double take, his jaw dropping slightly as he meets my metallic orange eyes and he readjusts his glasses before pretending to quickly look back down at his comic. A smile quirks on my lips at him and I raise an eyebrow stopping gracefully centimeters before I would have run into what looked to be a ginger haired homeless man. He just as gracefully stopped. Almost too melodically for what you would think someone of his social status could accomplish, but something tells me not to underestimate him as his white-blue eyes meet mine and he stops carefully shifting the sign on his shoulder. Standing almost nose to nose with him I cock my head a half a millimeter and look up at the painted warning: THE END IS NIGH. Gaining eye contact once more I nod my head and smile lightly.

"The beginning is the end is the beginning. See you around."

He blinks but nods just the same and I pat his shoulder and go around his stoic body my coat flicking about my heels.

* * *

Her hair was a mixture of reds and browns and oranges almost too many to count. Odd to one Walter Kovacs, odd to him because he never took much mind to tedious details like that. Her eyes: metallic orange, like nothing he'd ever seen before, they almost moved, like that of Dr. Manhattan, continuous sparks and waves traveling through the iris but shining like that of the metal on a new car. Her small stature wasn't perfect but that made her seem even more real after staring at her eyes. The multi-coloured hair came a good 3 or 4 inches below her collar bone and she wore a worn out burnt trench coat over a fitted black tee shirt, worn jeans and black boots. Walter Kovacs had noticed all of this within the 48seconds Dezzi had stopped, looked him in the eye, cocked her head half a millimeter, read his sign, and spoke 11 words, touched his shoulder and left. Walter Kovacs had noticed all of this and stored it in great detail in his mind and realized he was still standing in the same spot and the newspaper man and pirate comic reading boy were staring at him oddly. He didn't realize until later that he left the stand without getting his comic.

* * *

I stared at the numbers on the door as movement was heard inside the apartment and finally the one and only Edward Blake opened the door, a diminishing cigar hanging loosely from his lips.

"How many times have I told you not to smoke?? Especially in the house."

His confused expression turns to that stupid smirk as I pluck the remnants of the cigar from him and toss it into an overflowing ash tray.

"At least one more time, as usual, Murph. To whom should I thank that my favourite niece-" "Your only niece." "My _favourite_ niece has come to visit me??"

I roll my eyes as he lights up another cigar and smiles crookedly watching me pick around his apartment.

"No one. I was in town and got a weird feeling. You know how that goes. The whole Fiasco senses I suppose. And call me by my name. It's Dezzi you know. Not Murphy."

He chuckles. "I know your name, Dezzi. How long are you staying for??"

I shrug idly and tie my hair up. "No telling. I have to go now though, I'm going to visit Night Owl and the Doc first, but I wanted to stop in and say hello before I went out. Maybe we can have dinner one day this week."

He nods and opens his arms for a hug. "There's something that you're not telling me." The Comedian nods and hugs me tighter and for the first time in my life I don't feel the tightness of a smothered laugh in his chest. It feels like the coiling of tears that he can't let out and I hug him back. "You're not going to tell me are you??" He doesn't answer directly but pulls away and looks me in the eyes nodding to me patting me gently to the door which is answer enough for me. He might as well have screamed 'no'.

"See you around." "..Yeah, see you around."

And for the first time in my life I heard him say 'I love you' I almost couldn't say it out of shock but I looked him in the eyes and told him with a smile that I loved him too and left him, standing in the door way, begrudgingly. If I'd known what was going to happen…I would have stayed…

* * *

By the time I reach Dan's house it's already dark out and upon closer inspection of the door I find it to be broken in.

"Great." I sigh boredly. I didn't have time for Neanderthal criminals. Tapping the door open with my boot I fiddled through my pocket for a small knife feeling the smooth paper of the fortune next to it. Sounds could be heard from the kitchen so I slowly made my way to peek around the corner where a man with a mask pulled above his mouth ate a cold can of Dan's beans. He wore an old hat and coat, roughly all of his clothes looked old and worn down, and I knew immediately this was Rorschach. Sighing I relaxed my muscles and walked into the kitchen making him jump to attention and reach up to grab his mask.

"Who are you??"

His voice was rough and scratchy, and reminded me of the staticy speaker at the diner.

"Calm down, I'm a friend of Dan's. Go back to your beans."  
"What is your name??"

"The name's-"  
"Murph?!"

"Murph?"

"Not Murph."

I correct Rorschach perhaps a little too quickly and turn to snap at Dan for using the annoying old nickname.

"Long time no see!"

He yanks me into a his chest and I gasp as the tightness of the hug patting him uncomfortably. "Nice to see you too." Pulling away he smiles shortly and turns his attention to Rorschach. "Rorschach…" his eyes flicker to the bean can the masked man still holds. "I can warm those up for you if you want…" "Fine like this. Take a look."

I look at Dan an eyebrow raised, and glance down to the table as he picks up a small round pin.

"What is this…bean juice??" "Human bean juice." Leaning over his arm I see what he sees and he looks at me his expression almost terrified. My own is one beyond my own comprehension as the room spins and I stare wide-eyed at the smiling face before me, the blood like a poorly aimed bullet hole on the laminated yellow exterior. My mouth is suddenly dry but I find swallowing is the only thing I can find myself able to do.

"The Comedian is dead."

The words come out of his covered mouth to me in slow, slurred speech, and speed up, playing and replaying, rewinding and fast-forwarding in my mind over and over, like a back skipping record. Somewhere outside my mental phonograph Dan is talking to me, touching my shoulder. And somewhere outside my mind I am responding, or I think I am…I do not know.

"I just talked to him…I just….he was, he-I..why didn't I stay.."


	2. Bonified Smile

Sorry, this one is short, school started so i have little time to write. thanx for reading

reviews??

* * *

"Maybe you should lie down.."

Nite Owl offers, a hand on my shoulder as I snatch the button from him and stare closely at the blood stain until I give myself a headache. This was a joke, had to be, couldn't be real and I refuse to believe it. A glare stains my face and I stare at the masked male shoving the button back at Dan.

"I have to go."

I practically snarl at the men and stomp out the front door slamming it behind me.

Okay, so in hindsight perhaps my reaction and exit were a little melodramatic. Glass crunches under my feet, the broken trail of caution tape flapping in the shattered window. The apartment a little under what could be considered a war zone. Broken glass, broken tables, broken TV, broken like the man who'd sailed out the broken window. A pinup picture of the Silk Spectre had a knife lodged next to her through the picture and into the wall. More crunching. A cool filthy breeze flushed in through the window as I walked over to the kitchen running my hand along the counter to a picture of him and I at small vacation we'd taken a few years back. He was smiling, for real, not out of hate, not out of discontent or cynical amusement of the misfortune of others but a real bonified smile because we were together. He even had his right arm wrapped around my neck playfully a dumb grin with a cigar propped between his lips. I was smiling too, something I don't really think I can find the energy to do at the moment. Someone walks in behind me and I find myself half wanting them to be the person to do this, and in the midst of my self-pitying to do the same to me. Fling me out the window into my uncles stain on the sidewalk below. Besides, I've heard that people usually die of a heartattack before they hit the ground anyway.

Whether to my distaste or pleasure I can't really tell, but it's Rorschach who stands at the newly gaping door of the apartment.

"Your relationship to the Comedian??"

It was more of a command of the information really, rather than a query and I noticed that he had a tendency to speak in abbreviated sentences, like writing in a journal or planner.

"Why does it matter??"

"You knew his true name, you know Dan's, who's to say that you're not the Mask Hero Killer."

I stop as I approach the window, having crossed the room far enough away from Rorschach so as to avoid actual contact. The wind whips up again and that stupid Gunga elephant blimp floats by as I turn around.

"He's my uncle."

* * *

She stopped in front of the busted window and looked out for a moment, her breathing on the edge of becoming ragged like she was attempting to hold back something. Though Rorschach couldn't tell if she'd rather scream her lungs out or whimper like a child. The pink elephant floated behind her making an annoying whining noise and she turned to look at him anger tipping the sadness in her eyes.

"I did not kill my uncle, Rorshach. And if you think I did. Well you have no business talking to me."

She turned on her heel the glass scraping and crunching against other shards under her feet, and she stomped on them like she had some grudge or that they had killed her uncle. Perhaps she was angry that they were only reflecting herself broken rather than showing her a full reflection of the person who had done this. Whatever the anger she brisked past Rorschach with a steady stride. He wasn't quite sure why, but he reached out and grabbed her arm causing her to tense and turn around and look at him, and if he didn't know any better he would say that she'd found his eyes through the fluctuating black and white mask that he considered his face. She had found his eyes and narrowed her own waiting for him to release her. When he eventually did, neither had any idea how long it had been but she merely turned and disappeared down the darkened hallway, that trench coat tail trailing behind her like a fallen hero's cape.


	3. In The Arms Of A Comedian

Sooo, i just totally realized all the typos in the one before this one XD and i'm not really much on the latter chapter but this one is better i promise. lol i also realized that i have a tendency to randomly switch tenses but oh well, lol, tell me if i reallyreally need to fix something if it's just killing you.

FYI

JONATHON IS NOT DR. MANHATTAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

lol so that no one gets that mixed up

anyway. review and thanks

no stealing

lol

3

* * *

Well, what the fuck now.

I groaned and fell backwards onto the creaking metal spring mattress half expecting it to collapse in on itself under my weight. No telling how old it was. Maybe it was the one that they put Lincoln on after he was shot down, it's old enough. I would have preferred to be shot again to having to go to Eddie's funeral. The ratty hotel I'm in smells bad. Like cat piss and sex. I frown again, I've never frowned this much in my life and I'm starting to think that my face may get stuck in the position. With my frown on my face I stare at the ceiling and glare at the noises of people fucking upstairs. I let my mind wander back to my Lincoln thought and I move gingerly on the spring bed into the lying position I'd seen him pictured in so many times thinking…I don't know what I'm thinking. Maybe lying like that, the way he did when he died I can get some weird connection to him, feel what he felt…

"Well this is just pathetic."

I sit up and the bed screams at my harsh movement and I actually smack it and tell it to shut up.

"Am I really sitting in bed trying to feel connected to a dead President…and telling a bed to shut up…maybe I really am insane."

I look around the room and sigh heavily, this guy is going down. Whoever did this has to pay. Ed wasn't the best person in the world, if anything he was extremely high on the list of people who probably deserved a good ass kicking. But what he showed on the outside and the man that was crumbling under the pressure on the inside were two different people, and the latter was the one that no one ever got to see. I saw that Eddie once. After my mom died. He was beside himself and he blamed himself for her death, blamed himself that he'd been off gallivanting in a mask when she'd asked him to help her take care of me after Jonathon left her for the last time. He blamed himself, and yet he never stopped. He was like a drug addict. The image I remember is like a panel out of a comic book. The crushed hero holding the dying woman as she reaches up and removes the mask from his face. That is how my mother died. In the arms of a Comedian.

She reached the punch line of life at the age of 37 and died of cancer. Colon cancer. She was a lovely person, large tawni eyes, long strawberry blonde hair, short and thin. She had a sense of humor but an odd fear of clowns and I fondly remember her screaming and hitting Ed with a pan one time when he snuck up behind her in his old costume. Some days I wish that I still believed in God. Some days I look out the window at the maggots that are crawling through their pathetic lives and I wish I still had the sense to blame it on a higher being's sense of humor and then I wonder how I got to be so cynical. I'm not usually an angry person, I'm very friendly, and I can get along with most anyone. I just see things in a darker view of life. Not to mention the predisposition for referring to other people I don't know as numerous species of bugs. The boards of the floor under my feet protest and complain as I cross the room and toss my bag on to Lincoln's bed and scrounge around for some new clothes. My trench coat, which is carefully folded on an oddly placed rocking chair in the corner of the room was my father's, though he died not long after I was born, in a house fire trying to save a kid. The kid got out, my dad did not. I peel away my dirty shirt from the day along with my pants and old underwear and pull out my 'costume.' The top was a special leather made by the Doc. A vest-top leotard with an O-shaped zipper running up the center of it stopping higher up on my throat, the zipper of the leotard going down and ending right below my naval thought it couldn't be seen under a thin but strong leather tanktop. Ed bitched me out all the time for not getting a full body one because I always preferred a half destroyed pair of jeans instead. The special leather that Jon made was extremely easy to move in and felt like you were wearing nothing, which is why I told him I needed the jeans, I needed to feel like I had some form of clothing on. Two black pieces of the leather also adorned my forearms, in case I had to shield my face my arms wouldn't get butchered. It wasn't completely bullet proof but did a pretty damn good job against knives. Before slipping on my jeans I clip a thin knife holster around my left thigh and venture to my coat. Reaching into the right hand pocket I pull them out but stop when a white something flutters to the floor. My fortune. I pick it up and stare at it for a moment and set it back down where I had lain out my knife collection. Yanking the jeans from the bag I look at them and almost shake my hand at how demolished they were. ¾ of my legs could be seen through the holes and rips but and down the legs, luckily somehow the ass was still intact and because so much was missing I could easily reach the knives without having to wear the holster on the outside of the jeans. My shoes come next, I remember Sally and Lori always wearing heels when they went out, I didn't and still don't know how. Then again I also remember when I let Lori wear my boots once and she could barely walk. Since then I'd upgraded from my old boots with new Converse like shoes that aren't as heavy or loud when I walk and lace up to my knee. They're also a lot easier to move in.

I hook the knives on and as a last second decision I shove the fortune into my jeans pocket and go to the window and put my jacket back into the chair. I had learned the night before that the door of the room doesn't lock from the outside so I have to use the window if I want my stuff to be remotely safe. Crouching down on the edge of the window I jump onto the fire escape on the adjacent building and jump to the ground startling a sleeping homeless man propped against a dumpster.

I snarl my lip up, this place is disgusting. It's pathetic when the people smell worse than the dumpsters. In all honesty I don't know where I'm going I just felt like walking and getting away from the dilapidated hotel. I pass a few prostitutes flashing their breasts and strutting themselves outside a bar and through all of my complaining and disgust I relish the ability to see the underbelly of the city in its rawest form. This is the true city, the un-sugarcoated, maskless side of town. I noticed back when I would follow The Comedian out he would always stray to this side of town. And at first I thought the logical thing, because that was where the crime was. But quickly I figured out the real reason, I figured out why the masked heros always appeared here, wandering the streets, patrolling the scum. This was truly the maskless area, this was the place where the most horrid, the sluts and the business men, the homeless and the politicians were all on the same level, the masked removed their masks and they were themselves in a place that they weren't afraid to be judged. The normal people you spoke to everyday put on their faces and suddenly they were their comic book hero doing what they most wanted to do. This was the American Dream. The freedom to do what you wanted, be who you wanted, and The Comedian knew that, he knew it and he turned himself into the American Dream, except everyone was too ignorant or in too much denial to recognize themselves when he appeared. Instead they attacked him, and in retrospect they were attacking what they all hated about themselves. Ed once stopped me when I was little, perhaps too young to actually understand at the time, but I remember it just the same. He took me in his arms and cradled me with that stupid grin. No cigar this time though he reeked of the sweet smell just the same. He said _"Murph-oh."_ I hated that name, but now I'd give anything to hear him say it and sweep me up like he did then. _"You only hate the parts of people that you see in yourself." _He poked my nose and sent me on my way. Mom had sent him a glare but at the time I didn't really care and just laughed at the poke and scampered off to play. Another prostitute walks by me and I wonder what part of myself she represents. I wonder what part of me Rorschach represents. I cross the street. Not that I _hate_ him par say…he does stink though…Glancing around I carefully smell my hair and sniff a little half paranoid that maybe I did stink from just sitting in that hotel room. Lavender wafts up into my nose and I sigh happily. That was a relief. But being around him made me want to throw up, or punch something, and I'm pretty sure neither of those were as a result of his smell…okay, maybe the throwing up one. But I couldn't quite place him, I'd seen him somewhere, but where I don't know…

I pass my sign wielding friend who is standing on under the entrance of an old movie theatre as rain starts down pouring. Jumping under the overhang I shiver a little and look at him looking at me.

"Hi…"

He doesn't answer just eyes me carefully like he's worried I'll do something to him.

"Nice weather."

He looks at me and one of his ginger eyebrows quirks lightly but still he says nothing and I nod my head. "Right, you don't talk." I sigh. "This is going to be a long night."


	4. Five Till

oh my. i know this took for_ever_. and i know i suck at life for it. and i know it's not super long but i had to cut it off because i want Eddie's funeral to have it's own chapter. blahblahblah. i don't really think there is much else to say. read. be happy. i will try not to be so ridiculous on the time next round.

review and love me.

* * *

"Anyway, I have a habit of being in the wrong place at the right time, and that is how I got nickname Murphy."

I'd been blabbering on for about half an hour now, sitting on the ground with my legs bent and holding onto the soles of my shoes. He still wasn't talking, just watching me with a look somewhere between, 'shut the fuck up', a friendly amusement, and confusion. He's probably confused as to why I'm even talking to him, he doesn't seem like one for friends not to mention the only real vocal usage I'd gotten out of him was an occasional 'hurm'. The rain starts to let up and I find that I don't really want to leave. It is late, October 15, and Eddie's funeral is tomorrow and I'd do anything to postpone that until the day of nuclear war. And from what everyone is saying it wouldn't prove to be much of a wait. Funny how the thought of global disaster doesn't faze me but the mere reminder of the funeral proved enough to kick me to my knees. The man is looking at me now and I almost wonder if he's curious as to why I stopped talking because he wants me to keep going or he's thankful I shut up. The rain has completely stopped by now and I know I have to leave and go back to the hotel. Nibbling on my lip I stand up and turn to nod to the ginger.

"Nice talking to you."

I smile at him and jump down the step onto the sidewalk halting when a gruff voice answers back quietly. "You too."

A quick 'hurm' follows and he is gone when I turn to look after recovering from my shock and suddenly I can't stop the grin growing on my face.

* * *

Walter peeked around the corner and watched with large interest as a smile spread over her face, a small dimple imprinting on her left cheek. His hand gripped around the splintering wood he shifted the comfortable weight of his sign on his shoulder and inwardly scolded his 'attraction' to this young girl. Young…made him sound like a child molester…

He remembered the split head of the German Sheppard, the child's leg between its crooked teeth. No, young was not the right word. Innocent wouldn't work either. And she surely wasn't naïve. Walter Kovacs grunted in displeasure and wandered down the alley way still hunting the correct word.

* * *

My eyes flick over numerous different black dresses hanging on the wall. Three ladies had already asked if they could help and all three had been turned down. All three had superiority complexes and thus they had been shunned. All of the females working in the store have been seeming to hover near me cautiously. I guess they expect me to shove a dress in my pocket and walk out. After half an hour of hunting one finally catches my eye. Black, of course, it has a tube top with a frayed layered skirt ending at the knees. Eddie had always complained I never dressed like a girl enough, the least I can do is wear a skirt to his funeral, he'd get a kick out of that. With a quick test of the size I purchase it with much relief to the workers and leave to get ready. Thankfully Nite Owl had informed me I was welcome to use his shower and house to get ready.

* * *

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, naked, and dissect my imperfections. The numerous scars and wounds, each with a story or a lie behind it. My hair is a mess and my clothes are dirty and I want to make myself smile when I think I smell like Rorschach but I can't so I stop trying. The shower to my left is already on and the water falls in time with the rain starting again outside. It's a nice feeling, a warm shower in a clean house after living in and out of nasty hotels for almost a year. My lavender scented shampoo fills the room with a pleasing smell and I rinse it out putting in some conditioner allowing it to set for a few minutes while I sit in the bottom of the shower and think letting the water roll down my back. For some reason my mind wanders past the thoughts of Eddie I should be having and to the sign man and thus to Rorschach. Funny how I compare the two. Their voices did kind of sound a like…not to mention the smell. Nite Owl did say that no one knew who Rorschach was yet, maybe the sign man is the masked man. I giggle lightly until I realize the possibility was actually legitimate and I find myself more curious than ever. The conditioner needs to come out. I rinse and grab a bar of soap from a little dish on the rim of the bath. The clock outside the shower says five minutes till.

The Doomsday Clock is five minutes till.

Eddie's funeral is in an hour. Five minutes till 5. Everyone is five minutes from doom, five minutes from death, misery, suffering, and anguish. Everyone is five minutes past happiness, past love, past family and friends, past joy. Five minutes is the difference between pure happiness and the end of your life. Your entire life is five minutes away from Heaven with a five minute trip to Hell.

A drop of soap gets in my eye and I complain loudly, the clock fuzzing dramatically before coming into view as the minute hand lands on the twelve and I realize the five minutes had passed with little to no importance in the midst of my blur of pain.

The soap disperses and my vision is clear as Dan knocks on the door announcing I should probably start getting dressed because the cab will arrive in approximately half an hour.

I thank him over the sound of the shower and climb out after killing the water leaving only the sound of silence broken by raindrops and wet footsteps. I stare one more time into the mirror, at the circles under my eyes, at the scars and the life I have chosen far from the wishes and protests of my wilting mother before she died and similar to the one that caused the death of my uncle. I stare at myself in the mirror and I wonder which of the two is staring back at me through my own eyes. I stare at the mirror and wonder who would even attend my funeral. I stare at the mirror and smile at Eddie who is staring back and wonder at what point I pushed my mother away.


	5. Soap In My Eye

mkay, this is Eddie's funeral. it's shorter than i thought/hoped it would be. haha. but i kind of like it and i've read over it 3 or 4 times and i keep trying to think of things to add, but i really can't so this is how it's going to end up being. just for the record the song lyrics in this one are _The Sound Of Silence_ by Simon & Garfunkel

review?? and enjoy.

* * *

"God didn't promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow, sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for the way."

The preacher thinks he's clever. I don't like him. Nite Owl is beside me fiddling with the bleeding button in his hand. I have to force myself not to look around, not to see how few people came to see my dear uncle's dead body, to respect him. Jon is behind me in the back row glowing softly causing my shadow to dance on the wall to my left in a haze of blue light. Laurie didn't come. The Silk Spetre didn't come. Rorschach didn't come. Adrian, Hollis, where were they? All of these people who had known Eddie for so long and none of them appeared, none of them bothered to tell him goodbye, none of them bothered to turn a head my way. Not that I want would want it anyway. I thought I saw Moloch hanging around outside. Funny that out of all of the people he knew his oldest enemy would be the one to show up. But I suppose his greatest enemy was the closest thing he had to a friend in the end. I really don't think that Ed ever held anything against his enemies, I think he merely saw them as playmates. Like freeze-tag, a game I remember playing with him when I was young. Some of the enemies were frozen in the past while Ed continued running refusing to call a time out or an end to his game. Now someone else was It and Ed was the first to be tagged.

"Here with us is his favourite niece Desdemona Blake." I mumble 'only' in response to 'favourite' but the meaning behind it is lost. "Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary. May God help you through this." I try my hardest not to glare at the man, telling myself he only means the best but the majority of my mind tells me that he's only saying this to say it and he couldn't care less about me. How could he, how many funerals had he done over the ages, how could he care about all the families of all the people who had ever died. How?

It's still raining and I wonder if it ever does anything but rain in this city. I am tired of his stupid references as he offers the hand of God to me again and I stand and walk out of the building leaving everyone baffled, a quiet murmur of confusion, and the notion of God behind me. I am angry that the man can think of so much to say about Ed when he never knew him. The people who did could barely tell you anything and this man spoke as if he knew it all. Outside a small overhang is present where the cars are to line up and drive to the cemetery and I sit on the edge of it next to the gutter where the metallic pattering of the water reverberates next to my ear. Across the street the sign bearing man is standing and walks away with a quant nod when he realizes I see him. Maybe Rorschach did show up. I take off my heels and wiggle my toes into a puddle and laugh sadly. I did this same thing during Mom's funeral, only I had Eddie there to chase after me and complain that I'd left him alone with the sniffling population. There was no Eddie to chase after me now. No cigar smelling, cursing, masked man to wrap his arms around me and tell me everything was okay, even when it wasn't.

"Dez…" I glance up expecting Dan but it is Jon who followed me. I notice that the rain isn't touching him as he holds out a blue hand. We'd always had a sort of connection, maybe it was because we both have a hard time connecting and relating to others, and because of that we related to each other. Whatever it is, it's there and I'm thankful that I still have something with someone…someone not wearing a mask anyway. I gingerly take his hand and pull myself up gripping him in a hug, somehow surprising the ever-knowing being who tentatively, almost hesitantly places his arms around me, rubbing small gentle comforting strokes up my back. He is losing touch with humanity, and so am I. But that's okay I guess, humanity has been losing touch with us for so many more years; it just took us this long to catch up. I feel comfortable in his arms and briefly I wonder how I would feel in Rorschach's arms. I'd only met the man once, briefly and I was stuck on him. Like something out of a little fairytale. I hate it. A Brother's Grimm tale sounds more along my style. Dark and cloudy. I shake my head and I can almost feel Jon's curiosity. I wonder how it is possible for him to feel curious when he sees everything simultaneously. He is still rubbing my back leaving small sparks of friction behind the trails of his hand and I know that as he does that he is back in his childhood taking apart and putting together watches, as that is happening he is being torn apart and putting himself back together, as that is happening he is making love to Laurie to Janey, as that is happening the world may be ending somewhere in the future…and I find that I pity him. I think what is left of the human in him, despises the rest of him, the side that everyone sees as a weapon or a god. I don't see either. Jon is like me, he doesn't believe in God. Perhaps it takes becoming almost God-like to realize that there isn't and never was one. When you say or hear a word too many times it doesn't sound like a word anymore. God is no exception. You say it enough it no longer sounds like a word, and soon after it loses its meaning entirely. Mom believed in God…Eddie never said. I'm not quite sure what age I decided I didn't. Somewhere between my dad leaving, all the boyfriends and dirty hotels and deaths and rotting cities, somewhere in the midst of the mess I woke up one day and realized I didn't believe. Somehow Mom held onto him, and I don't know whether I envy or hate her for it.

I sigh. "God is a comedian, playing to an audience too afraid to laugh." I quietly recite the old Voltaire quote, I think I remember Ed saying that to mom once, then again, maybe I'm making it up. Either way I remember her frowning and telling him not to talk that way in front of me. She said that so often I stopped counting. Jon stops his hands and his quiet voice vibrates in his chest. I love his voice, the first time I heard it I was surprised, I assumed the god like being would have a god-like booming voice, the kind of voice I'd always imagine when reading of Zeus and the other Greek gods. But his was quiet, comforting, just brushing the edge of being human. "I thought you didn't believe in God." I stay with my arms wrapped around him and stare through the window where I can see Ed's casket. "I don't believe in comedians either."

* * *

_Hello darkness, my old friend,  
I've come to talk with you again,  
Because a vision softly creeping,  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,  
And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains  
Within the sound of silence._

The car stops and I slide out of the back, the leather seats sticking slightly to my bare legs making a sticky sound. Jon is already outside the car, the rain falling everywhere but on him as I stand next to Dan and watch them take the closed casket out of the back of the hearse. I don't want to be here but I can't let Ed go into that hole alone. We follow the body to the grave site and watch as they lay him in the dirt. The preacher is still talking and I'm still not listening.

_In restless dreams I walked alone  
Narrow streets of cobblestone,  
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,  
I turned my collar to the cold and damp  
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of  
A neon light  
That split the night  
And touched the sound of silence._

I look around and see Dan wiping away Ed's blood from the button the only real part of Ed left on this Earth and not in it, his mind is elsewhere. Jon is on the other side of me staring down at the lowering casket and I wonder how much of this he even understands anymore, or if he's only counting molecules on the lid. I feel more alone than ever. I'm the only one who cares in a group of people I no longer know.

_And in the naked light I saw  
Ten thousand people, maybe more.  
People talking without speaking,  
People hearing without listening,  
People writing songs that voices never share  
And no one dared  
Disturb the sound of silence._

The preacher asks if I would like to toss the first bit of dirt into the grave. I don't answer for a minute, just frown blankly. I finally nod and take a handful of the muddy mound and hold it over the casket and stare down. The others watch me quietly and my eyes flicker as drops of rain bounce from my eyelashes and I think that somewhere in the rain on my cheeks there are some tears mixed in. I don't know how long I stand like that, but Dan carefully grips my wrist after a time startling me. His eyes are imploring and I halfheartedly look back and drop the dirt slowly crumbling it over the grave. He nods and takes a stand next to me dropping the button on top of my dirt.

_Fools said I, you do not know  
Silence like a cancer grows.  
Hear my words that I might teach you,  
Take my arms that I might reach you.  
But my words like silent raindrops fell,  
And echoed  
In the wells of silence_

The people leave slowly but I stay and watch them cover him up, watch as the smiling yellow face is buried under the shovels of dirt. Jon and Dan behind me while the preacher continues to talk about God. Soap in my eye. That's all this whole city is, this whole life. Soap in my eye, burning, pain, and tears. I look down at my hand and examine the dirt stuck under my nails and staining my hand. The rain dabs it with water and I can see my skin beneath the filth but I quickly pull my hand back under the confines of my coat resting over my shoulders and realize I don't want it gone just yet. I'll wash the filth away later but for the time being I want the dirt on my hands and I want the soap to be in my eyes and I want to cry in the rain and I don't want to be saved.

_And the people bowed and prayed  
To the neon God they made.  
And the sign flashed out its warning,  
In the words that it was forming.  
And the signs said, the words of the prophets  
Are written on the subway walls  
And tenement halls.  
And whispered in the sounds of silence._


	6. Bare Feet Spoil Innocence

Whooops! So I went and re-watched and re-read Watchmen annnnd yeah, Adrian was totally at the funeral. So, I'll fix that into the story later and just say he only showed up at the burial. =3 Problem solved. Lol. Anyway. Onward muh dear friends. Also, this will have "Rorschach's Journal" entries so more than likely anything in italics for any extended amount of time is journal.

Also, please go vote on my poll for this story on my profile. Thank ya.

* * *

"You're really welcome to stay here if you'd like, Murph. Really. I'd feel better."

Dan frowns and follows me to the front door, he had already fed me and was offering me a room in his home and I can't help but decline. After living alone for so long it's awkward for me to have someone else to wake up to in the morning that's not a fat landlady squalling for money. "No, I'm fine. Really, Dan…" I give a quick weak smile and nod walking out into the evening.

* * *

Rorschach leaned against the brick of the building to his left as Dezzi exited the second Nite Owl's home.

_Rorschach's Jounral, October 16, 1985._

_Saw Dezzi leaving Daniel's house. Early Evening. Her make-up smeared. Looked like she'd been crying. Don't know why but followed her. She's interesting, worth studying. Followed two blocks East. She is staying at a bad hotel on a bad side of town. Cuts down alley way, follow. Shadow beside dumpster moves…_

Rorschach paused, alert. The shadow beside the dumpster stepped out; Dezzi. She stood in the moonlight against the garbage and the lunar beams radiated off of the broken beer bottles, discarded newspapers and glistened off the wet rheum on her orange eyes. A torn forgotten queen amoung her unwanted kingdom. She had let down her hair at some point having put it up while at Dan's house after dinner. The tie was on her right wrist overlapping two more. She was holding her heels in her left hand and adjusting the coat propped on her shoulders watching Rorschach expectantly. She'd known the whole time he was following her he could tell by the way she looked at him. Rorschach frowned under his skin and found himself more worried about her bare feet in the collage of broken glass rather than how she had known about his tracking. And why he took so much care on dissecting each infinitesimal little detail of her appearance and her actions, emotions, and movements he couldn't quite figure out.

"Not a good idea."

"Huh…?"

She blinked. He shoved his hands in his pockets and Dezzi couldn't quite decide if he was nervous or if it was just a habit. Perhaps a little of both. Not until she noticed his chin slightly downcast did she realize he was referring to her lack of footware.

"Oh…no, it's fine. Just a little dirt."

"Could cut yourself."

He prodded in his staticy diner radio voice looking away and around, anywhere but at her.

"Shit happens." She smiled shortly and Rorschach "hurmed" but seemed elsewhere in his thoughts as Dezz padded over shards and trash like a ballerina to the service entrance before turning to the masked male. "You want to come in?"

_Shouldn't. Work to do._

He thought gruffly to himself but she waited patiently her dress moving about her knees and he found himself silently accepting before he could make himself protest.

* * *

"Why use service entrance?"

I grin to myself. "The guy at the front desk likes to hit on me." Rorschach makes some indiscernible noise behind me as we reach my room and I have to shoulder my door open rolling my eyes at the moans down the hall. "Well, home sweet home." I wave him in shoving the door closed and clicking the three locks out of habit. "It's not much, but not much is all the money I have right now. Times is hard." I say the last part in a bad British accent. "So, why were you following me?" He is standing in the corner of the room like a child in time out but turns around when I start changing into my costume.

"Curious." "About what exactly?" He doesn't answer again for a time and I turn to find him watching curiously as I zip up the O-ring forgetting about the tank top tonight. "Don't know."

A frown graces my lips and I think I feel my stomach drop. If he didn't know then he probably had no real reason which meant my stupid fairy tale theory is being shot into the dumpster in the alley. I shrug a little and play as if I don't care, laying down on the bed with my head hanging off and my feet propped up on the wall motioning for Rorschach to take a seat in the rocker.

"Fine like this."

I giggle, "Of course you are." And fiddle a white rose around in my hand. I'd swiped it off a bush at the funeral home. "White roses represent innocence and purity and are traditionally associated with marriages and new beginnings. The white rose is also a symbol of honor and reverence, and white rose arrangements are often used as an expression of remembrance." I caress its silky petals. "I read that in an article one time." They were my mom's favourite roses; she liked to plant but didn't get to do so often on account we always lived in crummy apartments. She did have a window box one time, I do remember that. Some kids came through everyday and tried to mess it up. We found a dead cat in it once, found spit, gum, the flowers ripped to shreads but somehow, every time they would attempt to kill it the innocent flowers would always come back, thicker than ever. Mom reminded me of the flowers, through all the hate, all the Hell, she managed to keep the innocent air about her, managed to keep a god, managed to come back stronger with every bit of destruction thrown toward her. We found it completely trashed one day. They had ripped all of the petals off, pulled every rose out by the roots, I remember walking into the house in my bare feet, dirty from wandering the streets and stepping on a carpet of petals. A petal falls off and out of my hand. There was a white rose sitting on Eddie's dresser, a dried one that Mom had been holding when she died it was the last living rose that the kids had some how missed or maybe they left it as a cruel joke. I put it into the casket with him, into his hand, if I didn't think it'd make me sound insane I'd swear to it that I saw him smile when I closed his hand around the fragile thing. I snap out of my thoughts, determined to keep as far away from saddening subjects and begin speaking again. "You must have something to ask. Otherwise you'd be out fighting crime, doing what you do. People don't stalk people for no reason." I twirl the hand opposite the rose. "At least, not the last time I checked anyway."

"Why not live with the Comedian?"

I turn my head and look at him; I honestly hadn't really expected him to ask anything, and not so quickly. "You mean why live in shitholes like this instead? I could have moved in after mom died, but I have some independence disorder I guess." I realize that I'm speaking to him as if he is my ginger haired friend and we are merely continuing our earlier conversation, only this time he is talking. "Looking back I wish I had stayed with him."

"Might be dead too."

"Shit happens." I drop the flower and roll off the bed waltzing to the window moving the moth eaten curtains to the side. Rorschach almost shyly comes to stand by me; I notice he's a few inches taller than me, small by most men's statures.

"I wouldn't be missing my Pagliacci." I chuckle as he lets out another 'hurm.' I'm slowly learning that he has a 'hurm' for each mood, this one was curiosity…or confusion. It's like learning a whole new language.

"A man goes to his doctor one day and tells him the world seems harsh and cruel." I stare out the window as I speak. "He says that he feels all alone in a threatening world. That everything seems vague and uncertain. The doctor responds easily and says 'Treatment is simple. The Great Clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. You should go see him. That should pick you up.' The poor man bursts into tears and says, 'But Doctor…I am Pagliacci.'"

My eyes flick over to Rorschach and his mask gives a miniscule twitch. "If I didn't know any better I would say I made you smile." My lips curve up but I don't dwell on the subject, nor on the swelling pride in my chest. "I used to call Eddie my Pagliacci. To annoy him. My broken man, hiding behind the smile of a clown." A sigh crawls out of my chest and I am suddenly questioning how Rorschach and I got so close and thus I am suddenly questioning why it is I want so badly to touch him. I wonder if he realizes it too. Before I can stop myself I am stepping closer yet and, surprisingly, he isn't moving. He just stands watching me.

* * *

He felt her move closer, and he told himself to move, she was too close. But he couldn't. He just watched. Watched as she teased the center of her bottom lip between her teeth. Watched as her pumpkin irises flickered over his coat and scarf, carefully calculating up to his face and he felt that feeling again. The one that she had somehow managed to find his eyes through the mask, managed to look right into them and read him. Her hands appeared out of thin air while he was focused on her face, carefully fingering the collar of the leather coat tracing along to his scarf and pushing down the top of it. Rorschach flinched. Her fingers were slinking for the edge of the white, black blotched fabric.

* * *

I halt at the flinch, not wanting to anger or scare him away. He doesn't tell me to stop or to move nor does he attempt to do either when I continue. Not until I start tugging it up does he grapple my wrists. "I won't take it off."

* * *

She mumbles, concentrated, her brow knitted directed on his neck more than anything else. The grip on her wrists loosened against his better judgment and he allowed her to bury her fingertips under the mask's hem pulling it up over his chin and nose. He watched carefully, she seemed entranced and he had to stop himself from shuttering away from her hands.

* * *

I reach up and touch his lips and I realize I really have no clue in the slightest why. I've never made a habit of touching men, definitely not ones I barely know, and especially not one's in masks. But I want it and I can't stop myself and I am kissing him.

* * *

His mind stopped, froze, halted, ceased. She was kissing him. Why? It was so innocent, so tauntingly simple and he wanted to hate it, to hate her, to push her away, to shove her back and to run away and not care about her in the least. He wanted to escape, to focus completely on the Masked Hero Killer, to not worry about her bare feet in the alleyway, to not worry about her smeared make up or the tears causing it. He wanted nothing more than to stop her, stop her before he became emotionally compromised, stop her before he cared more than he already shouldn't. He didn't want to care about the lips on his, about the small hands curving around the leather of his jacket. He wanted it to stop. Or maybe that's what he wanted himself to want…Her tongue was sweeping across his lower lip and he was instinctively responding, deepening the kiss. He couldn't hate her. Couldn't make himself move, he managed to move his hands but instead of pushing they held her still, held her to him. Tentatively she snuck her tongue against his, pleased and a little surprised that he tasted somewhere between mint and a spicy cinnamon. He could feel her hands on his jacket gripping and her body was shuttering ever so slightly and by the time his mind had caught up to the situation at hand she had stopped and broken away from his hold, wide-eyed with fear.

* * *

"I..I'm sorry."

The words choke out as I turn away for a split second and compose myself. He is gone now, gone when I turn back leaving only the curtains fluttering where he was once standing. I panic, my chest coiling and I lean out the window where he is already down the alley shoving his hands in his pockets again. I don't follow, I don't call after him, just pound my fist once into the window sill and lay my head down.

"Nice one, Fiasco. Real nice." I growl out my "Superhero name." I had planned to go out tonight, to relieve some stress, but it seems I've just grown some new issues for myself and I don't think I can stomach the city right now and decide that bed would be my best bet. Going to the bed a quiet squishing sound makes me stop. I lift my bare foot up, the white rose is smashed now, and filthy. Innocence soiled. A bit of blood stains a number of the petals. I had apparently cut my sole in the alley…With a sigh I leave the rose on the floor and fall face first into my pillow and roll over touching my lips.

"How am I ever going to talk to him again?"

* * *

_Rorschach's Journal Cont._

…_Left Dezzi's hotel room. Kiss left odd feeling in stomach. Like moth flying toward flame. Fluttering and slowly burning._

_

* * *

_

Dan stares at me with an eyebrow raised slurping another noodle out of his Chinese takeout box.

"How many times are you going to do that?"

"How many times are you going to let me?"

I hit my head on his table again, my arms stretched across the length of it making some silverware rattle with my rhythmic pounding. I've been here for almost two hours and if I don't have a bruise in the center of my forehead I will be very surprised.

"Okay, I'll bite. What happened?" He chortles shoving more Chow Mein into his mouth.

"I kissed Rorschach." His laugh is cut short as he chokes and I think he's going to drop his chopsticks and the noodle dangling from his gaping lips.

"You did _what_?!"

"I kissed Rorschach, dammit!"

"I heard you the first time!" He sets down the Chinese and I can't decide if he looks confused, amused, or panicked.

"_Well_, what did he do?"

I chew on my lip and look around bashfully. "Well he…he kissed back…" Dan's jaw all but falls to the floor in disbelief and he is silent beyond words.

"I don't know if I should shake your hand or give you a lecture."

I frown. "I don't' know if I should laugh or slap you." A grin pricks at his lips. "So, what was it like?" His grin grows and he wiggles his eyebrows.

"Wha-What?!" I laugh and scoff at the same time. "You-What?! I can't believe you just asked me that!" I can't help myself as I try to glare at him through my laughter grabbing my coat and walking towards the basement.

"Come on!" Nite Owl follows after me quickly.

"No! Get away from me you freak!"

I fling the door open and bolt down the steps almost screaming when a figure appears in front of me with Dan almost barreling into my back.

"Well..ah…hey Rorschach….What's up?"

I smile awkwardly and get an odd feeling. The feeling you get when you know that someone or something is about to happen, the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and right before something hits you. In this case a quick shove hits my back and flings me into Rorschach. When I come to my senses my arms are linked around his neck and I am staring the walking psychiatric test in the face, millimeters from my nose. Overcoming my surprise I lean back and glare over my shoulder keeping my left arm wrapped neatly around Rorschach. "What are we?! 12?!" Dan ignores me with a mischievous smirk and I peel myself from Rorschach resenting the blush I feel bleeding onto my cheeks. Before I can lunge at him a knock on the front door startles us all and Dan excuses himself and closing the door behind him stranding me with Rorschach.

"Ah…well..hi?"

I don't know what to say to him anymore. I don't know where to begin and he is already walking down the tunnel past Archie. "Hey!" I yipe and rush after him where is standing now stoic on the tracks.

"What?" His voice seems gruffer than usual and I halt, taken aback that he suddenly seems so agitated with me.

* * *

_Rorschach's Journal October 17, 1985_

_Dezzi chews the center of her lip when she is thinking. She chews the left side when she is upset. She chewed it when I snapped at her, left side. She did after the kiss, center. She had a small diminishing red mark in the center of her forehead and was limping, barely noticeable, favouring her right foot. Hair down, make up fixed, clothing clean. The moth found the flame again. My stomach burns._

_

* * *

_

"Sorry…" When he doesn't say anything and I can't really think of anything to say I find myself apologizing for no real apparent reason. I should apologize for the kiss, but I don't want to bring it up. Don't want to make him angrier. And I don't want to make myself seem more pathetic than I already am, don't want him to see me like that. He looks at me carefully and through subtle body movements I can tell he wants to say something and I pray that he will but he doesn't. He doesn't talk, just gives me one of his 'hurms', one of his soft grunts and stalks down the tracks, disappearing into the darkness of an abandoned forgotten tunnel with no light at the end. I myself sit down, right center in the tracks, half way between the lighted basement where Dan hides his costume, tossed aside his masked life to live a normal one and the darkness to my right where Rorschach roams still doing the one thing that he knows best, still adorning his mask. Justice. 5 minutes to my left is the norm, boring, long life, the good, what most would see as Heaven. 5 minutes to my right is the taboo, the unwanted, unpredictable life, the bad, what I have known and seen as Hell. I stare into Archie's huge orbs and a loud thunk is heard and Dan has flipped off the lights basking me in the darkness. He probably thinks I left with Rorschach. I bury my head in my knees and I know the only way out is right, through the tunnel, through taboo, through Hell. I can only hope that it lets out somewhere and I don't end up stuck for good.


	7. Bullshit

October 17, 1985.

"Happy Birthday to me."

The newspaper in the hands of a man in the booth in front of me promises war. Promises death. Part of me accepts it the other part of me wants to stop it. That part of me says that finding the Masked Hero Killer would stop this…or at least answer some of the questions eating away at me. The newspaper crinkles as the man turns the page of his paper. If someone had told me that on my 28th birthday I'd be staring nuclear war in the face in a dirty diner in a dirty city I'd have laughed out loud and walked away scoffing. No, when I was young I thought by the age of 28 I'd have a house, not a shitty hotel room. I'd be in the country with the clean kissing air, not in a city with the muggy choking pollution. At one time I laughed about it, smiled…after all these years I'm tired of smiling, and so is my jaw.

The waitress sets down my check. She is thin again, I wonder who's taking care of the baby, I wonder if it's doing just fine. I toss her a couple of bucks and walk out into the city feeling wide awake after sipping down my 5th cup of coffee since meeting with Dan from about four to six this morning. The situation with Rorschach had left a bad taste in my mouth and made sleep highly unlikely. Come to think of it I had been questioning what Rorschach was doing out in the daylight. Poor Dan must get tired of being the one person that everyone seems to turn to in their time of need. "Good morning!" The friendly man at the paper stand greets me and the thin boy is settling down into his spot with his pirate comic. "Hello." I smile and wave, welcoming a friendly conversation. "How are we this morning??" I leaf through some of the papers and magazines on the stand. "I've been better." "Ohh," the man clucks his tongue and lets out a displeased sound. "What's so bad to make a pretty face like yours frown?" The boy now seems interested and turns away from his comic where the main character is dreaming of his long lost first love, murdered, he is waking up realizing that everything he once had is no longer there. "Well, I guess this just wasn't how I pictured my 28th birthday. But you've made me smile so it's not quite as bad." I wink at the boy and he widens his eyes turning around like he had the first time I met the sign man when I'd first entered the city. "Your birthday?!" The man speaks with an exaggerated tone that can only be found with sincerity in the elderly. "I tell you what." I raise an eyebrow. "Anything you want, for one day only, is on the house. Pick out anything." He smiles and waves a hand toward the stand. I can't help but giggle a little and thank him picking around the choices. Up top a _New Frontiersman Paper _sticks out and I point at it. He looks at me surprised, readjusting his hat but unclipping it just the same and looking at it as if he was deciphering whether to actually give it to me or not. "Well, you see I special order this for a man who comes here and he was supposed to get this a few days ago but I haven't seen him since you came around actually." He chuckles. "So I don't see the harm, I'm sure if he shows up he'll understand the situation. Enjoy, and have a good birthday. It's not every day that you turn 28." He grins and hands me the paper and I smile back and thank him again exchanging a few more words and head to a floral shop and then the cemetery.

* * *

Walter Kovacs rounded the corner and padded to the newspaper stand he'd had little time to visit in the past week knowing he was running late on picking up his _Frontiersman _edition. Along the way he carefully analyzed the citizens picking out prostitutes, politicians, child molesters, and out of work mothers easily among the throngs. He reached the stand and noticed that his magazine wasn't anywhere in view, missing from its clip up on the top of the stand where it was usually waiting for him. When the man in charge of the stand saw Walter he practically choked on his coffee. "This would be the day that you showed up." Walter didn't know what that meant and he stayed quiet waiting for him to explain his comment. "I just gave away your volume. I didn't think you were ever going to show up and what am I going to do with that paper. Some girl came by and said it was her birthday and she picked that out of the stand, so I gave it to her." "What girl?" Walter's gravely voice sounded annoyed. "Ah…the girl you almost ran into here a few days ago. About yay-tall," He motioned to about Walter's chin. "With brown hair, orange eyes, had on that dingy trench coat, said she was going to the cemetery-hey!" Walter was already walking away.

* * *

The red roses on Eddie's grave are starting to wilt and look sad in contrast with the healthy single white rose I placed in the center of them. It's a nice day, the sun is actually out but the breeze is nippy and leaves a pleasant chill on the bare skin. The leaves are changing and every so often the fall off of a nearby tree and flutter across the soggy grass. I like it here. I like being with Eddie, and the air seems a little clearer out here with the lack of buildings and people.

"Hi, Walter."

Behind me the crunching of freshly fallen leaves stops and the sound of a male letting out a quiet grunt is enough to ensure that I was correct on my assumption on who it is. "How do you know my name?" He doesn't move any closer for a few moments until I don't answer and he steps carefully to my right asking the question again. "The newspaper guy told me." I look at him and nod a small greeting. "It's a nice name." "Don't like it." I chortle and look at the grave. "Why not?" "Whore named me that." "By whore you mean mother?" He doesn't answer but I assume that I'm right again. "It's a nice name." "Already said that." "Well, I'm saying it again." He frowns and I think he wants to hit me with his sign. "What's so good about it?" He's glaring now and daring me to prove him wrong but I think something in him really wants a reason, wants a small reason to hate himself less, even if it's as tiny as his name. "It's Germanic. Means 'ruler of the army.'" His eyes twitch lightly. "It's a good name." He goes silent for a while, and looks thoughtful as though he's really weighing whether or not he should like his name now that he knows the meaning of it and I take the chance to get a good look at him. The last couple of times I'd seen him it'd been dark or only for a few seconds and I hadn't got to really inspect him as I'd wanted. I don't know where to start. His hair is orange, almost the colour of my eyes and looks clean but unkempt, it matches perfectly with his freckled face. His cheeks are sunken in, probably from lack of food, and the muscles clamp and unclamp when he thinks. He's thin, but anyone could tell he was more muscular than anything even under his baggy brown button up shirt and coat. He even has on a dark tie and I have to smile a little at that. His hands are gloved with the fingers cut out and his right hand is ever clutching that sign. He's handsome, to say the least though I doubt many see it around his social status and over all rough personality. "I still don't like it." I snap from my examination and can't stop myself before I bark out a laugh and for some reason I can't stop for a good moment. The childish manner in which he said it reminds me of a small boy who was just proved wrong refusing to admit defeat, all he needed to do was stamp his foot and it'd have been perfect. His blue eyes narrow in displeasure and confusion, I guess it's not every day that someone laughs at him, especially not a female, and especially not one who isn't making fun of him. "What's so funny?" His stare hardens and I have to catch my breath and plop down on the ground not caring about the soggy feeling bleeding through the legs of my jeans.

* * *

Walter's anger flared up when she started laughing (though he was ignoring the fact that he found her laugh quite appealing). Why was she laughing? Rain water soaked her under sides of legs sticking the material to the skin under the material. She had nice legs, thick, but nice. Walter shook his head and the thought from his mind. That was the Rorschach part of him thinking…or was it, he couldn't tell anymore. Since she'd come along his thoughts were jumbled together but clearer at the same time, and to put it frankly; it was pissing him off. She was a confusing creature and he was slowly finding her breaching his thoughts when he should have been concentrating on more serious matters. Her full name was Desdemona Allison Blake. Allison was her mother's name. She liked coffee, and if she had it her way she would never wear shoes and would live away from the dismal city. She liked orange and black and didn't care for mustard at all. The waitress had put some on her burger the day before and Walter thought she might vomit. Those were a few of the things he could name off of the top of his head without really thinking, things he shouldn't be able to do. Dezzi was looking at him like she wanted him to sit down beside her and he crouched carefully down, balancing on the balls of his feet settling his sign, like a mother handling her child, on the grass. She raised an eyebrow, a constant habit he noticed about her.

"You need to lighten up." She quickly poked his chest making him lose his balance, something that didn't happen often, and land on the grass. "And to answer your question; I was laughing because you're like a little kid." His thin mouth and his eyebrows arched downward simultaneously. What was that supposed to mean? She pulled her hair to one side and ran her fingers through it. "You didn't have much of a childhood did you? You have some minor characteristics that show almost childlike behavior, happens a lot when kids don't get a chance to be kids." The ginger made a move to stand, not planning to sit and be insulted, until a hand shot out and held him in his place. "It wasn't meant as an insult or to be rude, just an observation. I'm the same way. I have my moments where I'm very childlike. I'm sure you've made observations about me." Walter stared down at her hand wrapped around his lower arm and thought to himself; _More than you know_. She let go and recoiled her hand into her lap and Walter sat back down and picked at a loose thread on the ring finger of his right glove. It was silent for a long while and Walter couldn't quite decide if it was uncomfortable or not, but Dezzi seemed content with her eyes closed letting the wind play with her hair.

"You chew your lip."

Her orange orbs opened and her gray charcoaled lids blinked. "What?" "Observation." He pulled the string from his glove. "Chew the center of your lip when you're thinking. Left side when you're upset." His jaw moved a little and he dropped the string scratching behind his right ear. She'd never really paid much mind, but he was right and she smiled through her astonishment. Her smile was nice, the little dimple almost a ghost on her cheek and the moth in Walter's stomach flapped its wings sporadically as she reached towards him and picked up the little thread. "Anything else?" "Think you're a jinx."

That one caught her off guard. Not that he was wrong. "What makes you say that?" He began giving her the silent treatment again and she sighed. "Remember when I told you about my father? How he saved that kid from the fire?" Dezzi fell onto her back and watched the clouds puff by. "That kid was me. My dad died saving me. My mom died because she was over worked having to take care of me, and her boyfriends always left because they didn't want a kid. Ed might still be alive if I had stayed, maybe if I'd never came to town." "Bullshit." Dezzi's mouth fell open and she lifted her head to stare, flabbergasted, at the curse. It wasn't an uncommon word, but coming from the scratchy voice and man of little words she found her mind blank and confused and a genuine smile was growing across her full lips. "How would you know?" "A feeling."

* * *

"If you say so."

I curl into a sitting position and glance at my watch running a hand through my newly damp hair. It's almost noon and all those cups of coffee didn't do much for filling my stomach. "Walter, Walter, Walter." He looks at me like I'm slow and I grin letting out that inner child we'd discussed earlier. "I happen to be hungry, but I'm enjoying talking to you. Would you like to join me for lunch, it's on me." He stares up at me through clear ocean eyes as I stand and I try to come up with the perfect colour to describe them. He takes to his feet and wipes off his legs picking up his sign agreeing in his own way. "Good. I'm glad." His eyes narrow and I don't quite know if he believes me or not but I don't really care so long as he's coming, and he is company, more company than I've had in a long while. I look at Walter when a small ceremony behind him catches my attention. Only a priest and a woman are present, along with the two men lowering a tiny casket into a small hole with a miniature gravestone. The lady wipes away a couple of tears, she looks similar to the waitress from Gunga.


	8. Meaningless Cloth

You know what I got to thinking, I wonder if Rorschach/Walter really smells that bad…the only real reason that they said he 'reeked' when they caught him was because he had a bottle of cologne in his pocket that busted when he rraaaarrl-ed out the window...XD go read the comic that _is_ the sound effect he makes when he jumps out the window.

XD which cracks me up. But then again he does say that his landlady bitches about the hygiene of his apartment…*shrug* just thinkin' lol.

* * *

The waitresses's name is Beth. I call her Daisy. She is young and blonde, and a pretty little fool, the Daisy Buchanan of the Gunga diner. She thinks we're friends. She insists on serving me, I think it's because I tip, or maybe she's just lonely. If she makes it she'll be one of the women to marry rich and flutter through life on the wings of a butterfly without a care in the world while her mother weeps over the grave of her daughter's daughter and her husband is with a woman like Walter's mother while she is none the wiser. Walter thinks she will become his mother.

"Is that how you see all women? As manipulative whores?"

Walter eyes the little saucer of sugar cubes on my side of the table. "Most." "Well that's comforting." I push the cubes across the table to him and watch him shove one into his mouth and I have to cringe. "How do you do that?" "What?" "Eat that straight. Too sweet." He puts another in his mouth. "Like sweets." I think I see his eyes flicker over me but I chalk it to imagination when a sugar cube appears under my nose between two grimy fingers. "Try." He pries until I pluck the sweet from his thumb and index and eye it, slowly placing it in my mouth. He watches with interest as my face distorts at the all too sugary taste on my tongue and it have to spit it out. Beth prowls over to take our orders. "That was just mean." I pout fiercely and order between wiping my tongue with my napkin and sipping my tea as Walter just eats another and looks at me with an expression saying that maybe the missing child in him wants to smile. "You should smile more often. Thank you." Beth smiles a perfect smile of white pearls as if to say she'll smile for me if Walter won't and refills my tea and handing down my companions sandwich at the same time. "Shows weakness." He begins shoving food into his mouth.

"How so?"

"Happiness. Distraction."

His sentences are getting even shorter than usual between bites. "I don't think so. And even if it was, everyone needs a little distraction every now and then." He doesn't really answer to that but slows down his shoveling as if to prove he contemplated my comment if only for a split second. By the time Beth settles my plate on the table Walter is eating his last fry and I haven't even started. "Jesus Christ on a crutch, Walter. When was the last time you ate? You eat like a starved dog."

"Five days." Five days ago was the 12th…the day that Eddie died, the day that Rorschach showed up at Dan's and ate a can of beans. Coincidence, I think not.

"Do you want something else?"

He seems to consider this for a good second but declines. "I'm fine."

"We should do this more often. I'll be a nervous wreck if I think you're going around for days on end without food."  
"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why care?"

I don't know…I don't say it but I think it. Why _do _I care? Not that I don't like to play Good Samaritan every once in a while. When I have the money I give to the Charlton Home for Problem Children and who knows how many attempted rapists, purse thiefs, and "villains" I'd put away over the years. But those I felt obligated to do. This was different. This I don't feel like that, I don't feel obligated to help in him any way. I _want _to. I want to be around him and I want to help him and I care. I care for this ginger haired man who is obviously a number of years older than me but is like a small broken child with too much knowledge of the darkness. "I just do." I shrug. "I don't know. I just want to. Sorry I can't really give you a better answer than that."

I say it honestly but with hesitation to how he will actually react.

"Why?" I have to give him a 'are you kidding' look. "Is that all you can ask?" "Why?" I slam my head into the table making the dishes and silverware dance and quake, startling the other pedestrians making them jump and turn to look. "If I didn't know any better…" I pick my head up from the table. "I'd think you liked teasing me." He gives a minuscule shrug and I roll my eyes and check my watch. Five till.

"You want to run to the store with me?"

* * *

A small organic store sits nestled three streets north from Gunga, dipped into a back alley with a neat little green straw mat with a dirty straw flower in its center and a wooden sign with "The Natural" etched into the wood that's been recycled from old baseball bats. I think it's a play off of the Bernard Malamud book. Walter is hiding his sign behind the nearby dumpster and following me into the store.

* * *

"Do you need any groceries, Walter?"

Walter Kovacs, Rorschach, internally shuttered. He'd never liked his name so much as when she said it. And she said it without ridicule or shame. She seemed to say it merely because she enjoyed the feel and sound of it rolling off her tongue, like she was saying something taboo to other's ears, something no one else dared to know or say. It pissed him off and yet he continued to follow her around like a stray, in some way that actually made sense.

He of course answered no to her quandary, no matter how in need of food he really was. The choice between food and rent was an often occurrence and rent usually, if not always, won out. But just the same accepting help, especially from her, was uncalled for. Not that he hadn't lived partly off of Dan for years but with her it almost seemed different…rude? Maybe?

She was staring at him now, with that look again, the one that told she knew he was lying. That pissed him off too. Or it should have. "You haven't eaten in five days. Are you going to try and tell me that was by choice?" She put her weight onto her left hip along with her left hand in the stereotypical unimpressed female stance.

"I'm buying you groceries."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Walter gave her a death glare that in the past had scared off every person he'd ever given it to and she just stood straight again clutching her cart, unphased. "I'm at least buying you some sweets."

Before he could voice a retort she brisked off down the breakfast isle. Walter followed after her either ignorant or uncaring of the awkward stares from the few people in the store as he watched Dezzi sort through boxes of waffles. He was slowly picking up on the air around her that seemed to radiate whatever emotion she was feeling at the time and the uncommon sense that he could tell her anything and she would actually listen and care. That almost scared him. She spoke to him with kindness he'd imagined a mother to have but with the humor of a friend or…lover? No. He shook his head, he shouldn't be thinking that way, and why hadn't the Rorschach in him stopped him? And even if he really did think that of her…she deserved better. She stared talking again, talking like they'd known each other for years. Something about pets.

"Have you ever had a pet, Walter?"

"Had cat once." "Oh, what happened?" She muses. "Ran away. Didn't blame it. Would have too. Same with father. Found smashed by car." He picks something up and examines it. "Your dad or the cat?" A small, tiny, smile cracks across his lips and he reshelves the box. "Cat." She laughed a little and tossed a box of cookies into her cart moving on down the rows. "Did you know your father?"

"Left before birth. Fought for country. Died."

"That's sad, every little boy deserves a decent father around." She frowns thoughtfully. "It's a shame the world isn't a Utopia. Though, if it were there'd be no room for people like us. A mask holds no footing in a Utopia, just a meaningless cloth. Kind of depressing really." She didn't catch herself mentioning masks, and if her male counterpart did he made no outward hint to her. He had of course heard her say it, and he had of course began to worry if she had discovered who he was. But the anger in him was directed more towards himself than her and the fact that what she had said was true worried him even more. Her voice was strained as Walter watched her reach for something on the upper shelf, barely brushing it with her finger tips. He realized she was really quite short, only five foot if he had to make an educated guess. After a few seconds of her struggling he finally reached up above her pawing hand and pulled it down for her. "Thanks, anywhere else I'd just crawl up the shelves, but I think they'd take it as rude and I really like this place. My mom used to come here when I was little. The same lady owns it."

Sure enough an elderly lady could be seen propped up behind the front counter watching a small television staticing between colour and black and white as a man walked across a thin plain of water to a woman in a beach chair. The song playing was Nat King Cole, Unforgettable. Dezzi was singing along and smiling her way through the store. "That was our song for mom." She yawned and Walter could see the sleepless circles under her smokey makeup.

When she had completed her shopping she wheeled the cart down the isle of candy and sweets demanding he picked something out.

* * *

He tries to hide it but I see the well hidden look of amazement he gets in his eyes. The only sort of wonderment usually found in the innocence of a small child in a candy store or amusement park for the first time. I would venture to say, just from what he's told me of his mother and father, that he didn't get many liberties as a chocolate bar through his childhood. Probably what caused his sweet tooth. He looks serious now, his expression something similar to what I would image Nixon's may look as he decides the fate of the US and the war. I've never in my life seen someone take candy so seriously.

"You can get as many as you like. I like these."

I reach around him and pick out a Milky Way bar from the plethora of snacks. "I've always had a weakness for caramel though…Actually I want this."

I snicker and chuck it into the cart. "Where's money coming from?" I can't help but lean into my cart and release another large yawn. "Birthday present from Jon." He looks at me. "A friend of the family." I add as an afterthought. "So I've got money to spare." He hurms and I help him pick out a good amount of chocolate and other assorted sugary products before paying and walking the block and a half home.

When we walk Walter doesn't walk beside me but follows behind almost like a watch dog and I must admit we must be a sight. A small woman with her groceries and dressed for combat with a homeless looking man traveling behind with a sign declaring the end of the world in his left hand and a plastic back of candy in the right. Perhaps the world needs more people like us…or perhaps there's too many of us hiding in plain sight. Outside my hotel a sleep black Jaguar sticks out like Adrian at a moron's convention. A skittish man in a chauffeur's uniform jumps at every voice and rustling paper around him. Tall and thick he practically pounces me when we approach the building. "Desdemona Blake?!" He speaks frantically obviously flustered (and managing to butcher the pronunciation of my name in the midst of his panic) and having probably been out here for a good while, quite possibly relieved when I confirm and am not a prostitute. "Oh thank god!" His arms flail into the air in rejoice and Walter growls.

"Can I help you with something?"

I eye him warily as he opens the trunk and offers to take my bags. "Right, sorry. I'm Jon Osterman's driver. Not that he uses me very often he usually just up and teleports everywhere. But anyway he told me to come and pick you up and to give you this." He hands me an envelope with my name in glowing blue calligraphy with a matching note inside.

_Dezzi,_

_The man delivering this to you is my personal driver. I can assume he has already informed you as such but with the current threats I can understand your lack of trust. For your birthday, along with the money for food, I felt I needed to provide you with a hotel room that would be better suited for you. Laurie says I'm losing touch. From what everyone says I no longer understand humanity. I don't want to lose it but I cannot change everything. I think your uncle was the first to prove that to me. He was the epitome of human nature and a force I could not change nor dissect. You are the same. Laurie is my last link to this world but I do not and can no longer understand or relate to her. But some part of me still sees you while everyone else is fading. What human is left in me remembers the importance of birthdays and what yours meant to your mother and uncle. I do not believe that either of them would have approved your living arrangements. The room is there for as long as you need it. See you soon._

_Happy Birthday._

_~Jon_

"What does it say?"

Walter is resisting the urge to look over my shoulder or snap the note from me. I on the other hand am slightly surprised. "Another present from Jon. A decent hotel room."

The driver carefully takes away my groceries and I notice that my other things are already pack away in the trunk. "I promised I'd get you there soon. Don't want to make Jon angry."

"Is that possible?" He chuckles and climbs into the front. Walter is looking at me as if to say "you're really going to just go with him."

"I'll see you around, Walter. We should do lunch again. Oh."

I put my hand into the pocket of my trench coat and fish out the Frontiersman paper. "Isn't this what you came to see me for?"

"Keep it."

He stares at the picture on the front page and I disagree. "I already read it. It's yours anyway." The hand with the bag reaches out and takes it and I smile ruefully not really wanting to leave him but not wanting to make the driver angry after having stood out here all day long.

Outside my window Walter watches my car drive away for a moment, turns, and walks with his back to me down the sidewalk I notice he drops the paper into a trash can before we turn the corner and before the building casts him out of view he changes his mind and picks it out placing it in with his sweets.


	9. Lest Ye Become One

weee, two chapters this weekend. i'm proud. so Rorschach actually has a Rorschachy moment in this. isn't that exciting? i thought so.

anywho. review? i loves them.

* * *

The hotel room is nice. Too nice, nicer than anything I've ever been in.

"You complain when you're in a bad hotel and you complain in a nice one. Is there no pleasing you?"

Jon pops up behind me speaking in a tone as close to joking as he can reach. "No! I love it I really do, I'm just in awe." I laugh and hug him. "Thank you, Jon. Thank you so much." He smiles and says he has to leave, that Laurie will be back soon, she's been hanging around Dan lately. There's a micro-expression of sadness and I understand patting his shoulder. "Thank you, Jon."

The sun is set and that fix is itching at the back of my brain. The same one that ate away at Eddie is passing on to me and the addiction to that costume that I've denied for almost two years is forcing me across the room to the dresser underneath the war on the television. I put it on, I've completely thrown out the tank top of it, and open the door of my room almost stepping on a small package wrapped in pages of a _Frontiersman _paper. The hall is empty and the elevator shows no use as I bend down and pick it up. It's light and I shake it gently hearing little movement from the inside. On the bottom of the package there is a little crudely drawn symbol in marker of a mirrored lower case 'r' with a dot at the bottom of each base. I can only assume it means Rorschach. I mull over opening it now and waiting until he shows up at some point, something I can only assume will happen along the way. We both have decided that we want to stop whatever force is attacking heroes so it's only natural we may run into each other...maybe we should work together. Finalizing that I turn back and set the box on the coffee table and leave the hotel.

The night is oddly calm. Which can only mean I'm on the wrong side of town, I haven't wandered into the depths far enough. That is I haven't until I hear a scream and my adrenaline kicks in and, call me sick, but I'm ecstatic as I sneak around the corner and see an appalling man pinning a woman with her dress half ripped off to a wall with the remnants of graffiti on it. The woman sees me and squirms with her eyes wide. I shake my head and put a finger to my lips slinking behind the large man and tapping him on the shoulder with the same finger. Surprised he spins around and looks down not quite knowing what to do or say until I give a little wave and punch him in the nose.

He wails and throws his victim into the bags and cans of trash to her right to allow his hands to cover his nose after it cracks and spills blood.

"BITCH!"

Left, right, jab, punch, duck, roll, kick, dodge, dodge.

It all flows back.

Like I never stopped.

The fluid dance I twirl around him makes me feel like a fish in water. Punch, dodge. A fish that's been held out of water and dried out, only to be thrown back at the last second before death. Dodge, dodge, laugh. I'm playing with him now and he knows it and he's angry. He's still holding his nose and swinging with his opposite arm. The fool chases me backwards into a corner and he thinks he's finally won. Sadly for him a trash can lid is next to me and he swings one last time and I duck down and Frisbee the lid into his forehead. Smack, pow, down, K.O. My high is at its peak, flowing through my veins as I crack my neck and smile. God I've missed this. At the other end of the alley the woman is whimpering and I walk to help her up shushing away her thank you's soothingly. I ask her where her apartment is and if she needs me to walk her there. She shakes her head and ties the top of her dress around her exposed breasts. She thanks me again and scuttles away hopefully to safety. After I make sure she's made it down the street I look back at the wall. Large fading letters spell out WHO WATCHES THE WATCHMEN? Next to the letters partly over the question mark is a black spray painted silhouette of a woman leaned into a man for one of those romance movie kisses. The kind where the girl stares up for the longest time and when the man finally kisses her it's so amazing her leg rises off the ground. The kind of kiss that isn't real.

Three purse robberies and six idiots later I'm crashing and wasting time just wandering around aimlessly. Movement on a building catches my attention and something tells me I know who it is.

"The stars and moon have come out to visit for the first time in a while. I wonder what they see. "

"Desolation Row."

Rorschach's gruff voice answers, it seems a little different than Walter Kovacs.

"Deserta faciunt et pacem appellant." He closes a little journal and tucks it away in his jacket to look at me. "They create a desolation and they call it peace. It's Latin."

"Doomed language."

"For a doomed society."

"What do you want?"

I let the rudeness in that comment slide and decide to continue speaking as if he hadn't said anything. "I want to help." He looks over his shoulder at me again. "Find the killer."

"Don't need help."

"I just want to-"

"Work alone."

"_Liar_."

The sudden unexpected harshness in my voice seems to alarm him. "You worked with Daniel for many years. If anything I have more of a right to be hunting this man down. I just have the balls to admit I can't do it alone and I'm asking for your help. You think you're the only one that cares? Eddie wasn't a great person, everyone knows that, but he's all…was all I had left and I'm not letting whoever tossed him out a window just roam free."

I'll just do it myself. I scream in my head and spin around. "See you around, Walter." I barely have enough time to cuss in my mind when he has crossed the roof at mind boggling speeds and is slamming me from behind into the roof entrance face first.

"What did you say?"

I give out an animalistic growl as he attaches my right arm to my back flipping me around when I don't give any other response.

"What did you say?!"

I withstand the urge to spit in his face and glare instead. "I said. 'See you around. _Walter_.'"

I annunciate each syllable of each word emphasizing his name looking for the blue orbs behind the mask that I know are there. He gives my shoulders a good shake and makes me crack my skull against the steel door. He expects me to fight back. To punch and kick him, to push him away. He knows I can fight, knows I could at near match him in a fist fight, if not beat him in strategies. But I feel no need to fight back and that provokes the anger in him the most. Maybe if I spit on him it will stain his mask.

"Who told you?!"

"_Honestly?!_"

I spat back. Did he really think I was that stupid? That he would spend that time with me without a mask on and I wouldn't figure it out.

"I figured it out on my own!"

He doesn't seem to want to accept that answer. Maybe he doesn't want to be mad at me. If someone else had told me then he could face his rage on them rather than myself. I stare at the undulating spots of his face. Death, birds, roses, faces, clocks, pools of blood, too many objects in the blots cast away the face behind. I think my temple is bleeding, I must have hit a screw in the door when he first slammed me into it. He notices too and touches the trickle staining his dark glove. It drips down his finger, like the trail on the Comedian's buried button, and he looks at it casting himself away from me with his opposite hand.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

The blood is staining my hair and weaving down my neck. There is a screw sticking out of the door holding hostage some of my hair.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Rorschach is throwing a tantrum. Stomping and pacing over the dirty roof. I'm waiting for him to start hitting himself in the head like the kids at the circus when they don't win a toy.

"You're really too hard on yourself."

"No. Had mask for a long time and no one figured it out. Come along for five days and figure out. Going soft."

"It was actually more like four days."

He halts and stares at me. "But anyway," I add quickly. "you're barely around anyone. That's why no one ever figured it out. I've been around you with and without your mask. Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?"

Headlights cast shadows along the windows of other buildings; a boss is having an affair with one of his male employees three windows to the right of where a streetlight flickers and goes out. The little things you catch if you pay attention. Walter's chest below his coat rises and falls heavily.

"You spend so much time in the shadows you think you are one. Have you forgotten that there are other people? People that aren't the ones that you feel compelled to save, that maybe there are people who want to save you?"

"Don't need saving."

"How would you know? We're all born guilty, Rorschach. Everyone needs to be saved eventually, it's just a bitch when you finally realize there is no 'God' to save you and your savior is just another broken human."

He looks away into the darkest corner possible, toward an alley where no light shines.

"Battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes also into you. You can't fight forever Rorschach. And at some point the staring contest with the darkness will end and you will lose." I don't know what's gotten into me. Why I'm suddenly so angry and I feel that I need to cut down every ounce of this man's life. I have much-much more to say. The dancing spots on his face are showing me all the things I've hated and fought against over the years. All the people who ever hurt me and I'm looking for Eddie's murderer to appear amongst the shadows of the past. But he's not there and suddenly I'm not one hundred percent that the person I thought I'd seen in Walter is really there. "I'll leave you alone if that's what you want. I'll do this on my own." I try to leave again unconsciously moving away from the jutting screw in case he decides to attack again.

"Dezzi." My feet freeze in their tracks. Something about him actually saying my name for the first time makes my muscles forget how to work and shuts down the messages from my legs to my brain to make me walk away. "What." It's not even a question anymore but a demand for him to answer so I can walk away. Over my shoulder he is silent and his jaw moves in time with the thoughts of his dilemma.

"Come find me when you know what to say, Rorschach. I can only assume you know where to find me."

Maybe it's apologizing for my headache and the bruise bleeding on my coat or maybe it's just the anger raging through my muscles making me stronger than before, but the door opens much easier than when I first shoved it open to talk to Rorschach.

"_You have great ability, but it lies dormant until a serious crisis awakens you"_

The fortune crinkles in my pocket as if to remind me of its existence as I step onto Rorschach's Desolation Row. "Obviously my 'great ability' isn't people skills."


	10. Costumes

i haven't decided if i super like this as a whole

but there are parts that i love. i like the symbolism in it there's quite a bit. going as far as Dezzi's room. 10+10+10=30 you'll get it but 30 actually holds symbolism if you look you'll find more ^^

lol.

i should have like 3 more chapters up this weekend. i realized that i'm only like 2 chapters into the comic XD and i already basically have 20,000 words. anyway. here it is. this one kinna focuses a little on Dan here soon i'll have one focused on Jon...i might make her go to Mars with Jon...but i haven't decided. help me out please?? review or email and tell me if you think it's a good idea.

thanks

* * *

"Murph!"

Dan's grin fades fast when he sees the blood. "Are you okay?!" He opens the door wide to allow me in.

"Sure thing. Your place is just closer than my new room and I was just wandering if you could spare an aspirin."

"Oh! Yeah, of course! Sit in here. I'll get you a warm towel too."

He hurries off after leading me with a little too much care into the kitchen. The little television on the counter is on some news channel replaying some speech by Nixon. I picture all of the posters with his face and devil horns in bright red on his forehead. "Here.."

Daniel hands me a warm mauve hand towel for the blood and puts a glass of water next to three aspirin on the table.

"What-ah...what happened?"

"Oh, you know. Got into a fight."

He stands up and flips off the TV as I swallow the pills gratefully awaiting the death of my pounding head.

"Out fighting crime then?"

The mood seems to lighten when he thinks it was just a freak accident. "Yeah, for the most part. Stopped quite a few purse robberies and a couple of rapes."

"So which one got this hit in?"

A hand reaches out across the table to rinse the towel that has a Rorschach test of my fresh blood on it. "None of them."

My headache is already starting to let up some. "What'd you do? Run into something? Because you know I did that one time, I was chasing after a suspect and I didn't notice this low hanging sign and-"

"Rorschach did it."

He looks in a stupor. "Why would Rorschach..."

"Oh, come on, Dan. You act like he's never hit you."

"Well, yeah. But that's not the point. I'm not a girl."

I give him a stare down and he fumbles to save himself. "What's that supposed to mean, Daniel?"

"N-nothing! I just meant the concept! You could obviously take on any of us and come close if not actually win. But unless a girl does something we won't hit her. That whole hero chivalry...ya know...?"

"Nice try."

"Sorry...?"

He slicks back some loose hair and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "But honestly. He wouldn't just do it for no reason."

"I didn't say I didn't provoke it in anyway. And technically he didn't hit me. He slammed me into the door, face first. Granted he didn't aim for the screw and he missed it the second time."

"The second time?"

"Yeah. I hit the back of my head that time. Ow-!"

I grunt and shove his hand away. "Don't touch it!" I continue to slap his extended hand a few more times emitting little whiny noises.

"Dan?"

"Hm?"

I refold the cooling rag. "Don't you ever get tired of it? Annoyed?"

"At what?"

"Being the only person that anyone has to go to. You retired from being a superhero. Now you don't wear a mask but you play Psychiatrist Man, the hero of the heroes."

He laughs. "Psychiatrist Man? I like that. Well it's company I wouldn't have otherwise I don't think people realize how much everyday life we all gave up when we put on those costumes."

"Costumes…" I let out a sour laugh. "Makes it sound like a Halloween party gone wrong. I like to think of them as more of uniforms."

"They're costumes, Desdemona." He never uses my real name. "When they became more was when we all started fading."

I know that he's right and I resent that having pushed the truth away for as long as I could and at the time that I was just starting to accept it I find myself needing the…costume…more than ever. Like an alcoholic who knows it will kill him but won't throw out the bottle so long as the tingling feeling drags on.

"Costumes that have managed to rule our lives."

My chair squeaks on the linoleum floor as I stand. I put the bloody rag on the table and Dan picks it up. "You need to let go Murph."

I let out a defiant tut. "You'll end up like Eddie!" He calls after me scurrying to catch up to me as I hoof it to the door. "Murphy." Against my better judgement I stop and let him speak. "You've got to let it go."

"Let go of what, Dan? The costume or of Eddie?"

"The rest of us have put them away, why can't you…or Rorschach? You'll be happier."

* * *

She doesn't turn completely but looks down over her left shoulder. "You can't stand there and lie to me. You can't tell me that you don't walk into your basement at least once a day and stare at that costume. You haven't let it go you've just hidden it from the world. Bye, Daniel."

"Murph…"

She didn't stop that time and Dan made no move to slow her departure again. Her blood stained his hands. She was right. She was always right. She was young but she'd always had a talent for picking out the darkness in people. That's why she strayed away from them

Robotically Daniel Dreiberg flipped on the television, people were less likely to break in if it was on and they knew someone was home. He unlocked the basement door and clicked it shut behind it thunking on the lights before thinking twice and flipping them off again dawning his night vision goggles.

Static on the goggles fuzzed and popped to life and fonts flickered across his vision locating his suit. He used to depend on that suit. The goggles read his fingerprints. Two images popped up. Dan on the left and Nite Owl on the right. If he closed one eye Nite Owl covered up Dan, the other eye covered up Nite Owl.

He used to depend on that suit.

He still did.

Where did Nite Owl end and Dan Dreiberg begin? He used to fight crime…at what point did he start turning on his TV to keep out robbers?

* * *

The package is waiting for me on the coffee table when I return. I half expected it to be gone when I got back but Rorschach has left his gift, or forgotten about it.

What I wouldn't do for a drink…or a cigar…

Ed rubbed off on me over the years. On my counter is a box of Ashton Cigars, some new company by some man out of Philadelphia that started earlier in '85. He hasn't quite gotten them perfect but in the next 20 years I say they'll be fairly impressive. I snuck them in with my groceries this morning when Walter was still my friend.

"_Logic and practical information do not seem to apply here."_

"_You admit that?"_

"_To deny the facts would be illogical, doctor."_

Spock and McCoy, my childhood crushes, argue on my screen while I rest my head back on the pillows comfortably. I was there in 1966 when it aired and nothing could keep me away from it. Nuclear war can take a back seat and knock on my door as long as it wants but I'm not answering until Star Trek is over. Call me a dork. Do it. See if you live.

"_And then _they_ may__ want a __piece of_our_action."_

Kirk freezes and the theme starts up. My neck is stiff and my eyes are sleepy. I want to sleep but something draws me over to the full width plate glass windows. I stare out for a while but find nothing and decide to humor my exhaustion. The bed is warm as I crawl in only after locking all the locks on the door and setting a handgun on the nightstand.

Old habits die hard. The television is last to go. I want it dark and I'm tired of listening to people who know more than they do. Bring on the darkness, bring on the abyss, and whatever monsters dwell there.

* * *

The tenth window on the tenth floor of the tenth building was Dezzi's hotel room. She was standing at the board window stroking the glass with a faraway look in her eye. She stroked it three more times and walked away into the flashing blue of the TV light. Rorschach perched across the street on the edge of a water supply on top of a building his journal propped up and bobbing as his pencil scrawled his thoughts. When Dezzi stepped away from the glass Rorschach packed up his things and moved to the edge of the building to get a better look. He, of course, had better things to be doing (not that he could think of anything at the moment) than watching Dezzi, but he told himself he needed to make sure that the note was legit and not a faux from the killer.

After about an hour a blue light exploded overcoming immensely any light the TV had ever produced and the indestructible man stood in the center of the two beds basking the walls in light. She was already asleep and Rorschach watched as the seemingly unfeeling superhuman walked to the edge of her mattress to stare for almost two minutes with his hand settled on her temple opposite of where the gash was. What was that emotion he was showing…was that remorse? Dr. Manhattan pulled a blanket to her shoulders, pushing her hair from her face and disappearing as quickly as he'd come.


	11. Countdown

Beth has a black eye and a hand print on her neck. When she comes to take my order instead of opening her little pad she opens her arms and hugs me. Thank yous are blubbering out between sobs and I have to tug away. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy and I have to picture her in a torn red dress against trash bags. She'd been the girl I'd saved last night…and I hadn't even realized it…

Was I so oblivious to other people now…

She's smiling at me…one of her teeth is missing…

I looked at this girl everyday…why hadn't I known it was her…

Am I as bad as Rorschach…this is getting to me more than it should.

There was a time when I could recall every person I'd ever saved…now they were all blurring…Why didn't I know it was her? She looks confused and I apologize.

Why had her face mattered so little? I'm losing it and people aren't people anymore they're white noise. She's offering me free food, the least she can do, anything on the menu. I can't accept. I feel like I want to vomit. I hug her and apologize and leave a tip in her hand even though I didn't order anything. Out in the alley I lean over a dumpster and throw up.

The Natural is closed today but that's okay I just want to sit and think. I used to come sit on the mat when I was upset and alone. I put three cigars in my pocket when I left this morning. The first one smells good as I light it and puff. Reminds me of Ed. The mat isn't out so I stand up and lean against the wall under the recycled sign. Half way through my Ashton a shadow with a sign appears on the dirty ground. He looks at me, I look through him and walk away.

The spicy flavoured smoke escapes down my throat burning and singing my lungs as I blow out little ringlets into the air and watch them disperse. The roof entrance of my hotel is busted so I let myself past the "No Unauthorized Entry" sign and climbed onto the ledge of the building. Below I watch the tiny specks bustling their lives away and quietly I put my hand out curious as to how they would react to a body falling from 20 stories up right into the middle of their worthless lives. Not very well I can assume. No, people spook easily. I've learned this in my years.

I close my eyes and imagine it. What I would be like to fall from a twenty story building like this one. I imagine it would be something like a rollercoaster I'd been on once when I was younger. With the wind in your hair and your stomach somewhere in your throat, though it'd be much nicer. No jerky movements. Just a smooth downward plunge until you hit the ground that is. But most people die of a heartattack before they hit the ground…or at least that's what I read.

A gust of wind and my dazing whips my cigar from my lips and I watch it tumble down. How easy it would be to just follow after. I spread out my arms and close my eyes facing the roof. The stiff breeze pushes and pulls trying to braid my hair. The edge is close. I can feel where my heels are hanging over. I take one last full breath of air and pull my body weight backwards in a direct route with the earth. The fresh air is sucked and punched from my lungs but my heart isn't giving out and my stomach is in my throat and everything feels out of place .

I try to laugh but it's just ripped out. Above me buildings are flying up quickly touching the darkening sky. I can see the edges of my vision fuzz and blacken…The ground is growing close.

I'm freezing but light as wind and gravity play tug of war with my body. This is what Eddie felt I tell myself. I'm about to splatter. It feels longer than it is.

Countdown to destruction.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

"Dezzi."

2…

3…

4…

4…

Back to reality.

Where am I?

Not falling. My cigar is still in between my lips. I am looking down at the streetlights and slow moving cars with open eyes now. Just a day dream. The ground is as far away as it's ever been and from its view point my head is in the clouds.

"I didn't remember her face, Jon."

I know he already knows what I'm going to say because to him I've already said it. So I continue talking so as not to make either of us liars.

"I look at her every day, Jon. ."

"It's not you're fault."

I spin on the ledge and squint a little at first from his glow. "Dan wants me to let it go."  
"What do you think he knows?"

"Everything. The costume. Fiasco, Eddie, Rorschach."

"He wants to keep you from dying too soon."

"What's the point in that? If I wanted to ensure a long life I would have been an accountant. He says I'll end up like Eddie."

"Will you?"

The sparks in his eyes dance. "You tell me, Jon." I wonder what my eyes look like to him. If they're windows into my mind as everyone's are to me or if they're just an organ for dissecting.

"He's always trying to keep me from damnation…"

"Is it working?"

I scoff. "We're all condemned from birth. We're all guilty." I've said this before. "_If _Heaven and Hell _were _real we're all fucked. Rorschach, me, you. We've all killed our share of people. Dan's killed at least one, he's not the saint he pretends to be. But those were bad guys, right? It's different. It got out of control. It was out of control by the time I was born. If by ending up like Eddie he meant I'd understand everything for what it really is then he's too late. And the end must be very close."

I jump down and scrape out the end of the Ashton on the stone and drop it into my pocket. I literally walk through Jon and map out the roof. "Is there anything that controls anything, Jon? Karma? Anything? Or are we as helpless as I think?"

There's a little area where part of the building is higher than the rest and I sit with my legs over the edge and lean against the higher part. Jon sits next to me and looks at his hands folded in his lap.

"Nothing lasts forever but nothing ever ends. Isn't that what you told me at mom's funeral?"

He takes my hand and holds it parallel to his blue one. After a moment or so he lets go and speaks. "This is where Laurie and I are sharing our first kiss."

I can see his hurt. "By the time this is over she will not be mine anymore. And it will be better for her."

It pains him to talk about it. He's looking down and out across the rooftops interchangeably. I told him once when I was sixteen that he looked emotionless to so many people but I could see through it. He was living through every emotion he'd ever felt at the same time and that would break most anyone but he treasures them. Treasures the humanity of them. I think that intrigued him.

"I'm sorry Jon…"

I turn and hug him while Laurie kisses him, while Janey screams at him, while Laurie is breaking his heart.

He hugs back and mimics my apology. "What for?"

"You'll know…"

"I am leaving Earth after my appearance on television. I will go to Mars. That is when things will turn."

He pulls back and pushes away some hair, sparkling and disappearing. And once again I find myself alone and very confused.


	12. Cowboys and Indians

so. short.

D:

* * *

Moloch was at Eddie's funeral. It's a mere hunch but what do I have to lose? It is early Friday, the 19th. Exactly one week since Eddie's plunge.

Moloch was there to see Eddie.

So I will go see Moloch.

The sign by Moloch's residence reminds me of Rorschach. ЯR. The locks jiggle and an eye peaks out cut in half by the chain. "H-Hello?"

"Hi. Mol-I mean. Mr. Jacobi?"

"Yes?"

The worn eye narrows but shows no aggression. "Hi. I'm Desdemona Blake. I'm-"

"Edward's niece."  
"Right. I-"

He closes the door and more locks and chains clink and click. "Come in."

He holds open his door and I notice his hair is thinning over his pointed ears. His hands shake, his limbs are skeletal and his eyes are sinking back. He reminds me of mom.

"Thank you."

The early sun seeps in through the blinds as he offers me a drink or breakfast. "I actually had some questions."

"Seems a few people do. Rorschach was here last week."

_Damn_. He's ahead of me.

"Can you tell me what you told him?"

A bottle of Laetril is sitting on his counter.

* * *

"I'm sorry he's so rough."

"Not your apology to give dear."

"Just the same."

I was right about Ed and Moloch. So what is this list…and what did Janey and Moloch have in common. The sun catches the orange Laetril bottle and an idea hits me like a bomb.

"You have cancer?"

"Yes…"

I stand up and start ambulating around the kitchen, another habit I have when plotting. A timeline starts weaving and growing in my mind. 1971: Wally Weaver died of cancer. 1972: Allison Blake dies too.

I heard from an acquaintance with connections that Janey had it. Now Moloch.

"You said my uncle mentioned a list? With yours and Janey's names on it?"

"Yes, why?"

"I'm thinking that list was a list of people to infect…"

"With what?"

"Cancer."

I pick up some mail, Pyramid Transnational, until I realize I'm being nosey and put them down neatly. "Thank you for your time, Moloch." A bit of youth returns with the name and in a moment of weakness I pull him to me. The lack of muscle and meat makes him feel like a bundle of sticks in my arms. How Rorschach could toss this dying fellow around I'd never know. But for a moment I feel like I'm holding mom again and with that thought I wish I had Eddie's strong arms holding me. But Ed's not here and I am holding Moloch not mom.

"Thank you again."

As I go to leave he stops me while putting on his coat. "Would you join me for lunch?"

He takes me to a little café in an artsy part of town. Somewhere I don't get to visit as often as I like. He's lonely, been lonely for a long time. Just like us. The heroes. The good guys. The ones who made the sacrifice to protect society. The villains gave up everything just the same. The bad guys who were set to rip society apart. I think some where along the line the barrier was broken and the people of the country saw us as one in the same. I understand why that was. I understand because I am walking down the street with Moloch on my left. I played Cowboy he played Indian and no one is any the wiser to who is who. It's his turn to ask questions, mostly about me and Ed. He says he wishes he spent more time making a family than making enemies. I tell him that's something he and The Comedian have in common. We talk about anything and everything. The only type of careless seemingly endless conversation you can only have with a dying man. Across the street there is a G.W.A.R. sign hanging up. Gay Women Against Rape…I start to wonder about Beth. Two espressos and 3 pastry cakes later we're both laughing and Mr. Jacobi is doing his hand motion from when he was still Moloch. They look more like jazz hands to me. For a day I feel blithe. A rare occurrence but that only makes it all the sweeter.

"Do you ever miss being Moloch?"

"I miss the youth and the carelessness, the lack of fear of consequence. After a while it got out of hand. That's why most everyone quite. That and war. Even villains root for their country."


	13. Invisible Waltz

okay, i'm so sorry this has taken so long and it's not even that super long. so i went to the doctor and they told me NOTHING but they redirected me to a physical therapist so hopefully that will help. right now i actually have bronchitis (again i get it at least once a year) which means if i get my lazy butt up and my arm isn't hurting i have time to write.

okay. so in this chapter there is a mention of Karnak. if you haven't read the comic you won't know what it is. so for those of you who haven't Karnak is Adrian's big "home", whatever you want to call it, in Antarctica.

and at the end of this there is mention of Mars. i would like those who review to tell me whether or not Dezzi should say yes or no. i can go either way on it and make the story still work out correctly.

if you want there to be more chapters you're going to have to review and please answer my question as to what you think Dezzi's answer should be.

thank you. good to be back.

* * *

Rorschach's scab catches on my nail and rips off. I named it Walter. Rough, stuck to me, and when you rip it away it hurts, bleeds a little, and leaves a scar. Walter. If I had a rash I'd name it Rorschach. If I had to amputate a limb I'd name it New York City first and make sure they burned the sucker at the highest heat. If my heart was giving out I'd name it Hallelujah. But until then I'm stuck with a Walter. A red, crusty, rather large Walter that is laying in my fries now. I pick it up and rub it between my index and thumb. Anger is such an easy thing to have. Hatred comes easier than love. But it's so hard to hate this man, even when I look at my new scar in my little mirror with Beth in the background I can't find myself able to totally despise him. I accidentally drop the scab back into the fries. Beth wants to know if I want some new fries, on the house. I tell her 'no' and flick the scab out of my food. "This is just fine."

She cringes slightly showing her new gap. Her eye is yellow and green now, barely swollen and she says it doesn't really hurt anymore. That's good. She has on a G.W.A.R. Shirt under her work shirt. She says that a friend of hers is gay. I wonder if her friend is her. She goes away to tend to another table and I chomp down on some fries, setting aside the ones that Walter touched, and think about the situation at hand. Jon's appearance is tonight. With that appearance he hints that a snowball effect will take place. That can only mean that time is running out. But time for what? Complete destruction? I really wish he wouldn't always talk so out of context. There are times that I really like it, but in time of nuclear threats I prefer a straight forward answer. I do have to take into consideration the temporal disruption that he's been experiencing...maybe he doesn't know what is really going to happen this time around. The time that matters.

Last night I took Moloch's name, my cancer list, and Pyramid Transnational on the road, into the depths. I broke two wrists and an ankle. Got two names before I hit a brick wall and had to go home at daybreak for half an hour of rest only to wake up restlessly and walk past Rorschach's gift out the front door.

"_The weakest survives and the world continues_

_Kept spinning by toil. All the glorly is tarnished_

_The world's honor ages and shrinks._

_Bent like the men who mold it.."_

An Irish man sings _The Seafarer _to some off key tune. He wears a smile and hums his impromptu melody without a care in the world. His cheeks are dusty and blackened and had he been in the shadows his hands would be none existent, one with the shade. There are days when I envy the ignorance. His freckles remind me of Walter..

He passes and across the street a couple of kids are laughing and I can hear the hushing of spray cans.

"Hey!" They jump and look at me with frowns leaving without a fight. Of course they wouldn't attack in the middle of the day. Turns out the Knots aren't complete idiots. In their wake, outside The Natural, they've left another shadow couple. This time the lips aren't touching, stuck in the eternal suspense of that possibility of true love's kiss. I'd venture to say they're waiting for a whole lot of nothing.

I'm running out of places to go for information. And I can't very well go bashing heads in broad daylight, besides most of the scum don't usually venture out until well after dark. There are two choices left. I go with my second choice even though my senses are telling me something isn't quite right there.

* * *

Adrian Veidt. The world's smartest man.

I used to get along with him pretty well. With the other males, disbarring Ed, it took quite a while to grow a trust. But Adrian had a less than feminine preference in sexual partners and thus much of the threat in my mind was banished. The large V-shape of his building towers above the city like a watchtower. Gaudy, decorated in golds and purples and blacks and demanding respect. The mirror of it's architect, it's Pharoah. The purple lighte above the elevator stops and dings opening the shining the shining doors.

Top floor.

"Desdemona."

He smiles that pretty boy smile rolling up the sleeves of his lavender button up shirt. Unlike the rest of the Watchmen and Minutemen he used my full name. If he did call me by a nickname it was Demona. But even that was very rare. "I was starting to think you wouldn't come to visit me. I'm sorry I could only make it for the burial." A shrug rolls off my shoulders "At least you came." Sometimes I can't quite tell if he's sincere or not. He didn't like Ed. Never had. Ed challenged him on more than one occasion. Something that doesn't happen often with Adrian and when it does it pisses him off. So why had he came to the funeral? In hindsight…I really don't know. I'd like to think it was for me. But I know better than that. I was probably some weird revenge thing. Adrian has a dark side. A _very_ dark side hidden behind his eyes. Power corrupts and being the best anything can expand anyone's ego. Adrian has both and both separate him from society at lengths few can only begin to understand. And in this length a shadow has grown and in this shadow a well hidden monster ate away that lonely boy with no parents and left behind a shell for the monster to dwell. That's how I've always seen Adrian. Jon and Ed agreed. No one else ever did.

"Have you met out resident sociopath yet? I don't ever remember you meeting him before you left for Chicago."

"Yeah." The kiss flashes in my mind and I unconsciously touch the scar where the scab had been just this morning. "We've met." He sees the scar and rolls up his other sleeve. "Did he do that?" I'm at odds on whether to lie or not but my prolonged silence chooses for me. "He's dangerous, Desdemona. You should stay away from him." His voice is deeper than usual with warning. "Do I sense a bit of hostility, Ozy?" I pick up Bubastis's figurine. "He has a theory, you know. About a serial killer." "Ludacris claims. Stay away from him if you know what's good for you." He takes Bubastis from me gently and clicks her back on her stand. "Was that advice or a threat?" His lack of response leans me towards the threat. "I worry about you, Demona, I truly do." He's using the nickname as a term of endearment now, to steer me from his threat. "Yeah. I get that a lot anymore." "The perhaps it's time you begin listening."

"You know I'm not one to listen, Adrian."

The smile has returned. "I've always held a fondness for you. I don't want to see you hurt." He's being sincere now. "Nothing _to _worry about." "That's a matter of opinion." He's dancing around something. What? I'm not sure. "If you don't mind." He begins leading me back to the elevator, a hand on the small of my back. "I have an important meeting to attend." I give him a short hug and step into the opening doors. "Damn." No sooner do the doors close and hide Ozymandias do I remember I wanted to ask him about the mail to Moloch from Pyramid. "Why can't I ever have a normal conversation with anyone I know?" I sigh and lean back against the banister along the walls of the elevator. "Oh. Right. Because everyone I know are fucking superheroes."

* * *

Jon's quarters, if that's what you can call them, are empty and quiet with its lack of Laurie. I guess she really left. There is no music, no fresh aroma of perfume, just a stale smell left hovering at the door of their bedroom. Can Jon see the left over perfume…can he feel it? In place of Nat King Cole, Dylan, and the occasional Hendrix there is only a soft aria of machinery clanking, whirring, and humming. Adrian's voice comes from a room with a familiar blue glow, he sounds like he's talking through a speaker.

"Dezzi."

Jon is quadruple his normal height and tinkering with some large contraption. "Desdemona. I see we meet again, so soon too." I surprise myself when I let out a little hurm. "So, what is this thing?" I give it a flick. "Just a project." Adrian nods to some of his workers to move as Jon shrinks back to size beside me. "I had already sent it but found a small miscalculation." "A screw was one millionth of a millimeter off, Jon. That can hardly constitute as a miscalculation." Jon looks me in the eyes as the odd machine pops loudly and appears on the TV behind Adrian sending my hair flying almost simultaneously with his blonde hair in Karnak. "Thank you, Jon."

Jon doesn't look away and says goodbye cutting off Adrian mid sentence by pushing the TV's power off.

"How are you holding up?"

"As to be expected. Come."

"Ah…" I blink at his festinate behavior but comply to his request just the same. "Aren't you technically supposed to be at the studio getting ready right now?" He's naked, as usual, and the small rush he is in doesn't seem to include the television appearance, like he wants to somehow change what he knows is already happening. "Yes."

"Punctual as ever. You're planning on teleporting at the last second. You're going to Mars tonight?" I change the subject as I duck articles of clothing flying around the room. A suit and one of Laurie's old white dresses hover in front of each other. The suit holds out a transparent hand and the dress takes it graciously and they hover above the ground in an invisible waltz. Floating along together without a care in the world. Waiting for a whole lot of nothing in the end. Just like the shadow couple outside The Natural, just like all of us. Invisible to everyone but those who come along every so often who are willing to stare long enough until they find something. Like staring at an ink blot, like staring at a dress and a suit dancing. If you stare long enough you see what you want. A man and a woman begin to appear in the materials, taking shape. But if you take a step back, you realize all you are staring at is nothing. Emptiness, nothingness. A black stain and empty clothing. The clothes flatten, the couple is gone, the love and the relationship, and they tumble to the floor, crumpling and falling in on each other. Jon steps beside me and we both stare at the rumpled pile. "So…you're going to Mars tonight?" I feel myself feeling pity for the short lived imperceptible pair at my feet.

"Yes."

I nod and feel him look at me after he asks me an unexpected question.

"Would you like to come along?"


	14. Chapters, Cogs, And Wheels

okay, first off this takes place in **Jon's POV**

just so no one gets confused. and i would like to thank **Fire Black Dragon** for commenting. the only one who did. so thank you for that. like i said i really need more reviews guys. i don't think i have much else to say.

**Review please.**

* * *

I am on Mars.

I watch as the individual red pieces of sand move over each other methodically, hauntingly slow between my toes. Beautiful. Innocent, untainted. Beauty that was wasted in times of war and death. When was the last time that anyone stopped to smell a rose that wasn't on a grave? There were no flowers to go unappreciated on Mars. Just beautiful red formations something that should be left to its own, not shoved into a life of industry and pollution. Beauty like Laurie and Dezzi. On the inside they were the same. Living in the shadows of their guardians; in the shadows of heroes. Chosen for them, almost forced upon them. They could have rejected the life style. In the end Dezzi chose for herself, if given the chance Laurie would have picked the costume anyway. Not that she would admit that out loud.

A frown ghosts over my face. The old photograph in my hand is being taken in 1959. At a carnival, I am there with Wally, with Janey, both alive and well. I rub my thumb over Janey's abundance of hair that was now a shear veil of gray that she kept slicked back under the glossy faux hairs of a wig. I am being blamed for her cancer. I wish I could take it away. In all honesty I probably have the ability to. In all honesty I probably wouldn't. As I am stroking the photo Dezzi is declining my offer as I knew she would. But I asked just the same. Somehow hoping I was seeing the future wrong for once and she would accept. But she didn't and now she is somewhere back on Earth, some 60 million kilometers (at the closest), probably hunting more clues and unintentionally hunting Rorschach in the process. I have seen her eyes when she speaks of him, she is falling and she is fighting it as much as she could. What was it about nuclear threat…that pushes people together…that pulls them apart? Threat of change…

Janey changed, she became afraid, she became old. I had lied to her, was lying to her, telling her I would want her forever, but she was aging and she wasn't Janey anymore. Laurie looked the same as when I met her, beautiful, young, was that luck on her part? Or was that me unintentionally holding back the aging process so that I wouldn't have to let her go like I knew I would in the end? Would she eventually grow old, would she eventually change? She was changing…so am I.

I know she is with Dan. Dan, Nite Owl II, human, he sees Laurie one hundred percent for Laurie. He isn't looking for her genetic coding, isn't counting cells or telling her he can't go out into public because of how he looks or because he is losing his connection with the bodies walking down the street. Dan is good for Laurie, I know that and I must accept it.

In 1945 cogs are raining down on Brooklyn while meteorites are falling onto Mars while tears are falling in the future. I drop the photo and walk away from where it settles in the sand. While I am walking away from the photo I am picking it up from the man who took the picture and giving it to Janey in 1959. While this is happening I am being torn apart and Janey is framing the only photograph anyone has of me and placing it in the bar where we met, where our fingers brushed on that cold glass for the first time. While this is happening cogs are falling from the sky in 1945 and I am taking the photo from its cracked frame from the dilapidated bar and arriving on Mars.

It is 1970 and I am carrying Laurie into our new Washington apartment, a month later I see a 13 year old Desdemona Allison Blake for the first time at the airbase. She picks me out of the crowd but doesn't look at anything but my eyes, and she is staring right through them. She seems to be completely aware of everything that is happening around her, seems to look at the world with a far too mature point of view. She approaches me and we talk for almost an hour. It wouldn't be until late March in Saigon that I would discover she was related to Edward Blake, I would be surprised that I didn't recognize it before. In 1972 Allison Rachel Blake dies of colon cancer. Desdemona is 15 and is now known as Fiasco, Ed couldn't be prouder. Blake had asked for a leave a month before when Dezzi contacted him in a panic as her mother got worse. I would accompany them both to the funeral. A year later Desdemona leaves for Chicago, says she can't be around the squabbling anymore. Before she leaves she tells me, "Jon, anyone who looks at you and says you're emotionless is an idiot. If anything you feel more than the rest of us put together, you're just smart enough not to show it. Every emotion you've ever felt all at the same time…Hell that would break anyone." No one sees her for five years. In 1977 the Keene Act is being passed; The Comedian and I are exempt. Around 1978 Desdemona begins showing up around the city again, The Comedian is the happiest anyone has seen him in a long time. It is 1971 and Ed is showing me the only photograph he carries with him other than a newspaper clipping of the first Silk Spectre. It is a black and white photo taken in 1964, the time where I can hear the masks arguing, of his sister and her daughter smiling broadly while sitting on a picnic blanket, leaves are falling and there is a bouquet of white roses next to them, Edward Blake's shell breaks for a moment and he boasts while saying he bought her the flowers.

It is 1985 and I am on Mars, Laurie is walking out on me, Dezzi is declining my offer, the Comedian is dead, and I am truly alone. It is 1985 and I am wondering why I even bothered to put myself back together all those years ago. Is there one exact moment everything went so terribly wrong is it the accumulation of all our mistakes that crushes the world? Is there one person to blame or is it all of us who is responsible? Is anyone really responsible at all? Or does everything have a predetermined outcome, something like a book, that no matter how hard you try to change it, no matter how many pages you rip out, and no matter what page you flip to the ending will always be the same. A book without an author, a clock without a craftsman, something that can't be written, that can't be made, something that just is. It is 1985 and I think back to that bouquet of white roses in the photograph, for that one moment those roses were perfect, for one moment Laurie and I were perfect, for one moment Dezzi was a child and the world still held wonder. Everything wilts and all those split seconds moments, chapters, cogs and wheels, perfection, by the time you realize it…it is too late. It is 1945 and I am trying to catch the cogs falling from the fire escape but it's too late and they go crashing to the ground, it is 1985 and I am done trying to capture things that are too late to save. It's too late, always has been, always will be…too late.


	15. I Won't Peak I Promise

I surprised myself when I said no to Jon. Why had I said no? And why had he asked when he obviously knew that I was going to say no? The man gets stranger every time I look at him. The glass crystal of my bourbon bottle clanks against my cup as I fill it up. Dead end. That's where everything had led me. One big dead end and what about that machine that Jon was giving to Adrian? What kind of a project is that? It reminded me of the machine I always imagined Jon being in when he told me about how he got to be the way he is. I wanted to tell Jon not to give the thing to Adrian. But what do I know? As far as I know it could just be some weird thing to help his plants grow in Karnak. All of this seems like an inside job to me…and Adrian is my only choice. I lick a drop off the edge of the glass. I hate to admit it…but I need help.

* * *

"C-can I get out of the fridge?"

"No." Rorschach opened a carton of eggs on the counter while Moloch stayed smashed in his refrigerator. "Thought we might discuss Comedian. He visited here. Mentioned a list: you and Janey Slater on it. Talked about someone messing with Dr. Manhatten. Days later, Manhatten publicly disgraced. Forced into exhile. Allegations he'd given people cancer: you, Janey Slater. Tough break."

Rorschach cracked the egg. "But…I don't understand, why are you laying all this heat on me?" He started to mention Dezzi but Rorschach started up again. "Because I think Blake's list was a cancer list. Somebody wrote it. Somebody put your name on it. Somebody gave it to the media. Wonder who?" Some of the whites of the egg rolled down his chin as he swallowed the egg from the shell. "Funny…Dr. Manhatten and Comedian were always your biggest enemies now they're both gone. Very convenient. Who is it Moloch? Who's behind this?"

"I …I don't know. I already told you. I don't 'know anything." "No good. Wrong tone of voice. Not convincing enough." "Oh no! Oh no, god, don't! Rorschach! Please, it wasn't me, and I don't know why you're telling me about the cancer list! I already knew!" Moloch's voice became more muffled as the door closed in on him only to be ripped away at the last second. "Already knew about the list?"

"W-well yeah…" He stuttered as he fell into the floor almost kissing it. "How do you know?" "D-Dezzi…Desdemona Blake, she was just here not too long ago, got to talking and she asked me about my cancer, she already knew about Janey having cancer, and she mentioned her mom and Wally, she said she thought that maybe there was a list with the names on it. She said it made sense, said that Jon had talked to her about leaving Earth. I don't know anything else! I swear." Rorschach stared down at the sickly man curled on the floor. "Going now. If anything else should refresh memory, contact me by trash can opposite Gunga Diner, at fortieth and seventh. Sorry about mess. Can't make omelet without breaking few eggs." The masked vigilante shrugged on his grimy coat and walked out the front door. He was tired, hadn't slept since Saturday but after Jacobi's little story he found he had one more stop along the way.

* * *

I never did open that present. I glare at it from across the room where I'm leaned against my counter still sipping the bourbon. I wonder if he's come to the conclusion of a cancer list yet. I wonder if I'm just making things up. Nothing else adds up. The cancer list does, but Adrian? Really? What am I thinking? And if it was Adrian he has to know that I'm starting to come to some sort of conclusion….and if it was him why hadn't he gone after Rorschach yet…Rorschach…What the hell was it about that man that kept me attached to him. I swirl the liquid around in the glass. I'd noticed that anywhere I went now I was seeing Rorschach tests everywhere, I was seeing everything in anything. It was frustrating. It was distracting. I don't know what I'm doing any more. I need Eddie to tell me what I'm doing. I need someone to tap me on the back of my head and tell me that I've got all the right pieces to the puzzle. I stomp back and forth for a minute. I need someone….Rorschach? Why the fuck can't I get this guy off my mind. I let out a defeated scream and hurl the glass at the wall across the room. It hits and shatters in slow motion, the liquid spreading like wings over the wallpaper while glass falls like little shooting stars in the television glow to bounce on the carpet below. I settle my breathing and look where the amber liquid is dripping down the wall between the little diamonds of the paper design. One giant Rorschach test. I snatch up my MilkyWay that I bought with Walter and take a bite off the end of it while examining the blot. Outside my door someone is trying to pick my lock.

* * *

Rorschach meticulously moved his lock pick around in the door only to have it ripped open before he could completely finish. His tools stayed stuck in the lock as Dezzi stood in the doorway holding it open. She was eating a MilkyWay and huffed at him, her chest rising with her derogatory snort under the black short sleeved shirt she had on. He could make out a thin line of skin between its hem and the silver-grey of her men's basketball shorts. "Can I help you?"

"You know about the cancer list."

She stared at him and took a bite of her candy bar, ripping his tools from the lock and letting him in, closing the door behind him.

* * *

His attention is immediately on the large bourbon painting bubbling the wallpaper and I find myself feeling stupid hoping he wouldn't notice it. "I had a little accident." "Doesn't look like an accident." I ignore his comment and lean against the island that separates the rest of the room from the kitchen. "What do you want, Rorschach." His eyes catch his present still perched on my table. "Went to see Moloch again tonight. Said you'd been to visit him." "Yeah…so? Is that not okay? Or are you going to be like Adrian and tell me who I can and cannot talk to?" It's his turn to ignore me. "Said you talked to him about cancer list. About Dr. Manhattan leaving for Mars." "Yeah, he's already gone. After he got publically humiliated on television," To my left on the opposite wall the TV shows Jon's face, screaming, before he disappeared without a trace. "He left, Laurie left him too. The cancer list was just something that I put together on my own. Do you think it holds merit?" "Makes sense." He seems a little off. Like he's tired or something. "Are you okay?" "Fine." "Why don't you take off your mask, stay a while. It's obvious that you want to talk to me about something." He grunts but actually removes his jacket pausing before eventually taking off his mask and my gut flutters at the sight of his red hair and blue-blue eyes that I feel I haven't seen in so long. "You look tired as hell. Dirty too. Take a shower, Walter." His eyes can't decide whether they want to be surprised or angry at my comment. "Don't need one." "Take a shower, Walter. Take a shower, relax a little. You're no good to anyone tense, half asleep, and dirty. It's not a question. I won't talk to you until you take one." He frowns at me and looks down at his grungy hands, weighing his options. He must decide it would just be easier to do as I ask and take the shower, get the information out of me, and leave feeling a little better than he came because he slowing inches towards the bathroom. "I won't peak. I promise."


	16. Sleepwalkers

Rorschach let the warm water roll down muscles and scars. He looked at his pale freckled skin, examining and critiquing. After being out in the 'field' for so many years he'd managed to escape relatively unmarred…on the outside at least. On the inside he like to imagine he looked something like Edward Blake's face, after being beaten and bloodied, dropped and smashed, either that or the split mushy brains of those German Sheppards. Little nicks and discolorations were the most he had, no large scars, except for one on his knee but he had acquired that after an accident at the Charlton Home during a gymnastics practice. The teacher panicked at the sight of the gash and blood, Walter just looked down at it and walked away to the bathroom, twenty minutes later he reappeared and finished his practice and went back to his room for homework and never mentioned the incident again. No, on the outside Walter could be seen as a normal, everyday man, nothing to mark his violent choice of life style. It was the inside that gave it away. Dezzi said his eyes did too. The water started to cool so he turned up the heat a little and sniffed the assorted shampoos she had set up in the shower. Why she needed so many he didn't know but he picked out the least feminine scented one and pooled it into his left hand. He rarely got to take real showers, the kind with hot water and thick shampoo and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like them. But his building had mostly cold water except on those rare-rare days when it might decide to be lukewarm. And as far as shampoo all he usually had was watered down leftovers he could scrounge from homeless shelters that had to last for quite a while. The only cologne he owned was a small bottle of 'Nostalgia' that he usually kept wedged somewhere in one of the pockets of his leather jacket. Dezzi hadn't been living in much better conditions and he wondered how she managed to keep herself as presentable as she did. He began rinsing out the shampoo from his soapy hair. He hated to admit it but he felt bad about hurting her. She acted like it didn't bother her but, whether she realized it or not, she flinched if he moved toward her too quickly and he hoped the little gash on her temple didn't scar. He noticed she had quite a few on her, a large one on her right thigh, upper right arm and something that looked like a cigar burn on her left. The Comedian smoked cigars and even after all the things he'd done in his lifetime to all those different people Rorschach couldn't imagine him doing it to Dezzi, from how she acted and from how he decorated his house with her he seemed to near worship her. Worship could turn violent, ask any religious extremist, but somehow he still found it beyond unlikely. As a last second thought he picked up some conditioner and lathered and rinsed before spinning off the faucet and reaching for a towel and drying off. Oddly his clothes weren't left on the floor where he'd stripped them off but a new white tank top and his pants sat up on the counter folded neatly and smelling a little fresher than before. The rest of his clothes were missing and he began to suspect something was seriously wrong. He hadn't heard anyone come in at anytime…

Peaking out the door he looked around the room for any sign of foul play but only found Dezzi with her back to him facing the small kitchen singing _Mercedes Benz_ by Janis Joplin in a alluring but scratchy voice. She was no Nina Simone, but her voice has something entrancing about it. The rest of his clothes were folded and sitting on the coffee table just the same as the pants and top had been in the bathroom. Her song switched to _Desolation Row_ and something sizzled.

"You hungry?"

Walter near jumped and when he didn't answer Dezzi turned around and snickered under her breath. His eyes were a little wider than usual with dilated pupils and he reminded her of a cat she had once that would wear the same expression when he'd get caught doing something he really shouldn't be doing.

"It's good, I promise. And I left the cyanide out of the recipe this time."

She found the humor in her comment and laughed for her and Walter both, flipping over the two steaks in the skillet in front of her and stirring some potatoes with her other hand and he half expected her to start baking a pie with her foot. She was giving a new name to multitasking.

"Oh, and I hope you don't mind but I tossed your clothes into the dryer, just to give them a little fresher smell. Didn't have enough time for full out wash. The wifebeater you've got on was Eddie's from high school I think. But you've got a smaller stature than he does…did. I have got to stop doing that." She half joked at her own misuse of tenses. "But it looks like it fits pretty good. You can keep that if you really want." She smiled at him and tried to keep herself from letting her eyes roam down to his chest and arms, but dammit how she wanted to. He sat down as she placed some a plate with the steak and potatoes on it in front of him. She sat across from him and started eating while he stared at the food. Dezzi frowned and sighed switching their plates and taking a bite of both items.

"I told you I left the cyanide out."

"…..Thank you…."

"Sure thing, I only use the cyanide for people I really don't like. It may surprise you, Walter, but I do like having you around." As a second thought she added. "When you're not slamming me into walls." She smiled as she said it, so she must not have be angry about it anymore but Walter still felt the seldom twinge of guilt.

* * *

"I was just kidding, Walter, calm down." I admire my handy work with a skillet and dip my steak in some ketchup. "You're not here about the cancer list are you?" He watches his fork intently and takes a bite of the potatoes. I really don't think he even knows and I don't feel quite as bad about thinking about him all the time because he seems to be at odds just the same. I think he used the list as an excuse, I can tell by his face, maybe he was just realizing it himself, but what was there to ask about the list anyway? Jacobi knew everything I did. That name I got was no help and I'm up shit creek without a paddle…again. So, really, there was no need in him coming here, just like there was no need in him coming to my hotel room that first night when I kissed him. Inwardly I hoped this night would end the similarly but I quickly shake my brain of such thoughts.

He keeps sneaking glances at his gift that I had pushed out of the way so we could sit at the table. "Came about list. That's all." His blue eyes flicker to the stain seeping into the wall. "And to check on you. Dan was worried. Said you ran out on him." I leaned back in my chair and tossed my napkin up on the table and replacing it in my hands with his little newspaper wrapped present. "Dan has nothing to worry about but himself. I've been taking care of myself since I was little, just because I throw a little temper tantrum every now and again doesn't mean I'm going to do anything drastic." "Dan thinks you're becoming obsessed."

"Obsessed with what?" My frowns are becoming more frequent again. "There's nothing to become obsessed about. I'm attached to a black leotard and shredded jeans. So what. He's attached to a bird costume. Dan doesn't like to see things like they are. Dan's in denial and sometimes I think that Laurie is too."

"Weak."

I shake my head. "Dan's not weak, he just wants to see things better than they are. I wish that's how I was sometimes." I stand up and he follows me. "Why would you want to go through life not seeing the truth?"

"Ignorance is bliss." I remember reading 1984 when I was a kid. My freshman English teacher drilled that into our heads. Truth is something universally agreed upon. To hell if it was really true by nature's laws if the majority didn't see it, it isn't true. 1984….1985….maybe it was coming true, what's the difference?

"Slavery is freedom." Walter's light brow is furrowed as he puts his mask…his face…back on with his hat in his hand ready to put it on. "War is peace. We're all slaves to these…costumes," I almost spit the word out, "But it's the only way any of us know how to be free, how to do just what we want without limitation. And the only way we all seem to be just fine is when there's some war to be fought, some battle to be valiantly charging into, swords drawn, and fists balled." He comes into view as I turn around. "We're stuck in a perpetual state of sleep. We're all sleepwalkers. Dan just dreamt he woke up, he's not really there yet. And no one is here to wake us up. You don't yell at a sleepwalker…they might fall…" Eddie….I think I'm just dozing anymore. Walter's nearing a coma..

Walter grunts indignantly. "Not asleep. Don't need battle to be fine." "You can't survive without corruption." I shake my head in disbelief. "There will always be corruption." His gravelly voice sounds nervous and he won't look at me. "Then you can't-" I duck to look at his lowered face putting a hand on either side of the mask. "You can't survive in peace." I take his hat with my left hand and pull the mask off with my right.

"Rorschach can't. Walter can."

His eyes are glossy and I stroke his cheek with the hand clutching the mask. Slowly my arms wrap over his shoulders and neck and I kiss him slowly. When I pull back he's shaking and looking down again.

"No-no."

He's trying to shake me from him. "Never compromise." "I'm not asking you to compromise, Walter.." He gets loose and backs away. "I'm asking you to accept." He hears me, I know he does, but he goes out the door and I hear the stairwell door close soon after. He won't go far. I have his mask, hat, and the majority of his clothes.

"Ugh." I plop down on the edge of my bed. I miss the creaking shouts of Lincoln's bed as I set the hat down. I keep the white cloth in my hand and sigh, the spots cascade and flow over the crevices and mounds caused by pulling the material taught. I can't talk about him, I couldn't survive either. I want to try on the mask. Looking around I half expect him to pop out of the shadows and snatch it back. But he's nowhere in sight so I go into my bathroom and stare into the mirror. Cautiously, and only after checking one more time to make sure he was nowhere in sight, I slip the mask over my head and take a look. I see everything. Every shape, animal, person, plant, bug, that I've ever seen my entire life, every ounce of blood I've ever splattered, every bone I've ever broken, it's all there. And I suddenly understand why Walter is so angry and confused all the time. My breath is quickening. He spends so much time looking at everything else he probably doesn't even know what he looks like anymore. Brings identity crisis to a whole to new level. I can't do it. I rip the mask from my head near gasping for air. I stare at my face that suddenly seems so much less interesting and bland after staring at the blots. The circles under my eyes are darker than ever and I think I'm finally waking up.


	17. Author's Note

I wanted to say thank you to Kaiya's Watergarden, Okami-Wildfang, and Gaara-frenzy for reviewing!!!

Especially Kaiya who reviews quite often. I'm sorry I haven't been able to update a lot of things, good and bad, have been going on. I just started back up on writing on this story and hope to have more up pretty soon. Thank you for your patience and reviews and I hope I don't disappoint!

3


	18. Pipe Dreams

oh. my. god. i'm back. :D

lol, you have no idea how many different ways i wrote and rewrote this chapter. and i actually ended up throwing out what i was going to put here and going a completely different round about route and this is what you got and it may seem a little out of order at first but it's okay. lol, trust me. so i've got a few chapters actually written and ready. i hope you like it. i'm sorry it took so long. thank you for commenting (please keep it up) and i hope that i don't let you down. i know my writing is a little off. or it seems so to me. but i hope to get back into the swing of things. anywho, here you are. if you have any suggestions i'll welcome them. thank you guys. ;)

* * *

The clock shows 3am. The witching hour. Walter is, surprisingly, asleep but tense just the same. He is curled comfortably half under the covers with his head rested on my stomach and breasts and I think he is listening to my heartbeat. His right arm is under my waist meeting up with his left arm over my stomach. His coats and scarf and hat and shoes are piled in the chair and he seems content in the white wife-beater and pants with one leg caught between mine. I inhale slowly and paw at the remote on the nightstand to flip off the Russian missile reports but with no such luck.

Outside the world is frightened. Police sirens scream and curse, the stars hide behind the clouds with the moon and even the celestial anomalies no longer care to watch us. That's fine I suppose. For the first time in a long-long time I don't have anything to complain about. The end of the world is upon us and I am content lying in bed with this sleeping child of darkness. It's nice but I'm still questioning everything that has been happening. My senses are going off like a bomb to stop this. Every relationship I've ever had has ended in death or unhappiness and I question why I haven't stopped this, if I'm strong enough or if I really need a relationship. Walter whimpers for a split second and quiets again. He's so childish and so broken and I don't understand how no one has seen it. They all just chalk him up to be psychotic. I always hunted for someone who would never put on a front to me, someone who after, growing up with superheroes, didn't show me a mask. How I'm beginning to find that in a man who depends so thoroughly on this mask...this face…I'll never know. But to be able to be touching...feeling someone who I know won't lie to me is beyond actual words. He is whimpering again and I reach to stroke his hair only to have a hand shoot up and grab me. It doesn't startle me in the least, in fact I would have been more worried had he not. His eyes flutter open with the difficulty only known when you haven't slept properly in year and he lifts his chin to stare at me through heavy lids.

"It's fine, I wasn't going to do anything."

Whether it be his exhaustion or maybe he's actually beginning to really trust me or perhaps the fear of the end is making even the least likely of people reach out and realize how much they want someone but he releases my wrist and blinks a few times, his already blue eyes intensified by the TV and his hair flashing like the flames flickering from the propaganda on the screen he nestles back into place strengthening his hold around my waist. I can feel the heat of his breath as he exhales fully and I coil the fingers of my left hand through his orange hair relishing the silky feel in contrast with the prickly feel through my shirt. I worry about him. I can't walk away and that frightens me the most. I should not feel like this I should not...But I don't have the energy to fight it anymore. It seems he really doesn't either.

Somewhere through the clouds Jon is content on his red planet. Away from the tangled streets, crowded walkways, polluted air, and dirty people. He says that Earth is beautiful from space I wish I could see that side. Pipe dreams I guess. That's what this all is. Saving humanity, Walter and I, things that we all wanted so harshly but could, in the end, probably never attain. My hand rises at its own accord to touch my lips where he had kissed me with something...something like sorrow. Maybe he couldn't survive...maybe I know that but I'm afraid if he can't then there is no way I can either. If I admit he can't am I admitting my own demise in the process? Walter is stirring again.

* * *

Dezzi was struggling when Walter finally decided to leave. He woke up warmer and more rested than usual. His pillow was moving and smelled like lavender. Removing his arms so he could stand from the bed he stared down at Dezzi. He hair strewn about her pillow, her brows furrowed and she twitched her head a little as if trying to avoid something unseen and grotesque. Without much thought to his action Walter reached out and gently stroked her hair. It didn't hold that romanticism it did in the movies. There was no languid flow to the action and he didn't hold the stereotypical love struck expression thought to come with it. His face was nearly stone with a small flicker of what seemed to be confusion in his eyes and he pet her with an ease he might pet a stray cat. Gently but with that always present undertone of caution. But no matter the cliché it lacked Dezzi's brow loosened and her pursed lips fell gently apart and Walter watched them attentively as they separated, the skin unsticking like opening a seal. Her left hand reached up to find his but he pulled back letting her only brush the thumb of his right hand. He watched again as her lips tugged together in a pout but in the midst of her slumber she forgot what she could possibly be pouting about and let her hand drop back to the mattress. Walter sighed lightly and worked his way to the table for his things. It was still dark outside meaning he still had time to be Rorschach for a little while longer which was good for he still needed to make a quick stop by Daniel's before returning home. Tugging on his over coat he noticed his gift staring at him across the table. For a moment he thought about taking it and hoping she would forget all about it but quickly thought better of it and walked back across the room and placed it on the bed. And as he left ducking into the shadows of the hallway he stopped for a moment and looked over his shoulder through the cracked door listening as Dezzi began struggling again against her sleep. And something kept his feet from moving but the little voice in his head piped in attempting to be the voice of reason. _You can go back to her. _It permitted him. _You can go back to her this time, but you go back now and every time you go for that door she will need you again, and you will go back each time and each time you try to walk away you will make it one step less toward that door until you can never make it out. _Rorschach closed the door and Dezzi kept fighting.


	19. Where Was Walter?

Dezzi rolled in that fine membrane between sleep and wakefulness. The cool air beside her made her shiver and instinctively reach for consciousness. Where was Walter? Empty.

"Dezzi, Dezzi, Dezzi. Oh my little Dezzi, what are you doing?"

Desdemona shot up in bed, flinging the sheets to the floor. She heard her. She did. Where was Walter?

"Oh, baby...Where do you think you are going?"

"I'm going insane."

The TV was on but she paid no mind. "Baby, why're you crying?" "I'm not." She reached up to rub her eyes to try and bring the room to better focus only to pull back, her hands soaked with tears. She wiped them clear, tears she didn't know she'd shed and set her foot on the floor, the cold-cold floor. Cold like the other side of the bed. Where was Walter? His side of the bed was frosted over, snow caked in where his body had lane. Was that blood or a shadow from the TV? She shifted to set her other foot on the hardwood floor. She remembered the hotel room having carpet....

Something just as cold as the floor reached from under the bed and grappled her ankle causing her to jump up and spin to face the bed nearly falling down in the process. "Baby, baby, baby." Dezzi felt her heard race. She could hear her, hear her all around. "Murph-o, what're you doing with yourself?" "Not you too.." Eddie's voice mimicked the questions of the other voice. She groaned and slid against the kitchen island to the floor holding her head as the front door slammed and the smell of cigar smoke caressed her nose. "Murph-o, what're you doing hiding?"

A large hand gently ruffled her hair and enclosed her shoulder. "Come on, Murph-o. Time to get up. Time to come out darling."

She felt herself wanting to lean into the oh-so believable warmth of the hand. Wanting to unbury her face from her knees. She knew this game. This hide-and-seek. But what good was it playing with ghosts? The hand fell away and she looked up, searching.

"Oh, baby. Don't let Eddie scare you. Come look out the window with me. Come imagine with me. Our new home. Come here, Desdemona."

Dezzi remembered her mother saying that when they lived in one of their shitty little apartments. She would have Desdemona stand with her by the rose box. They would close their eyes and create a new home. A home they both wanted but knew they'd never have. Dezzi hated herself for never being able to give her that home before she died. Burying her fear she found the strength to stand and look toward the broad window.

"Baby, come see your new home."

Dezzi pushed some loose hair from her face and squinted through the haze of the TV at the silhouette at the window. As the figure turned a blue explosion erupted through the streets of the city. Her mother looked at her with her sweet smile and her arm outstretched, the window behind her exploded, shattering with the city sending her long, straight, strawberry-blonde hair flying toward Dezzi. The broken window sprouted bright yellow Caution tape tails as the blue faded and Allison Blake's hair settled back on her shoulders too perfectly. Her hand stayed stretched and waiting and Dezzi found herself walking forward to meet it. The window had grown into an almost exact replica of Eddie's.

"Come see the new world, baby."

Allison's hand dropped and she turned to look back out at the city.

"What is this...?"

She breathed out, her eyes widening at the desolate landscape a large gaping hole in the center of the city, everything for miles destroyed. "The American Dream." Two familiar strong arms wrapped around her middle and a slightly scruffily chin perched on her shoulder. "Come true, Dezzi. What we all spent so long fighting for. Finally come true. What we all died for Murph-o. It's here."

"We?"

Dezzi reluctantly pulled away. "Where's Walter?" "There is no Walter, anymore, Murph-o. Just Rorschach. You'll lose him too, Murph-o."

Dezzi shook her head. "I won't let that happen to him too." "Oh, baby." Allison reached to caress her daughter's cheeks. "He's already half way here. I'm sorry, darling." She looked over and Walter walked from the shadows of the room. Dezzi felt the tears this time as she touched his bruised cheeks wondering what had happened. "I need to stay here." She sounded as if she'd made her final decision. "You can't stay, baby. You have to go back." "No! Nononono. I can stay. And it can be perfect. It'll be fine. Mommy....let me stay." Her breathing increased and her eyes burned. "It's time for you to go back now. You can't save Eddie or I. Try for Walter. Go back for Walter while you still have time with him." "He's already here. It could be perfect." "Everything you gain in life you have to give up perfect, remember Dezzi? It's time for you to go back, baby." "Time for you to stop hiding, Murph-o. Time to wake up. We love you."

"No!"

She tried to hold on to slumber. Hold on to her mother, Eddie, Walter but her consciousness splashed around her, drowning, circling, pushing her further and further out into the ocean of reality. When she woke up this time the sun was as bright as it had been in the past week barely peaking through the rain clouds looking at her through the window. Unbroken, no caution tape, and all the buildings outside still stood tall. The TV was on, that same old Unforgettable commercial and for the first time she realized it was for Nostalgia.....That's what Walter wore...

Where was Walter?


	20. God Save Thee

okay, the first part of this you can take however you want, because i couldn't decide. at first thought i wanted them to have sex...mainly because i didn't want Walter dying a virgin

but then in all reality when i thought about it i saw him seeing having sex as something dirty and just wrong because of his past with his mother and so on. so i left it vague and you can take it and decide how it ends as you please as far as if they did or did not have sex.

hope you like, reviews please.

ps, there's been some confusion, the first part of this is a dream. i didn't want to put it in italics because that's how i put Rorscach's Journal. lol. sorry guys. :)

* * *

His hands fled under her shirt over her bare back. He could feel another large scar cutting diagonally across her spine and some smaller ones scattered elsewhere. If he was thinking correctly he would have stopped and asked her about them but in the haze he wrote a mental note to remind himself to do so later. Her lips moved over his neck and collar bone caressing airy kisses where ever she could reach and he felt what little control he had leaving his body.

His hands moved back down and bunched the shirt up and over her head where she flung it somewhere across the room. Her simple black bra was more distracting than it should have been and he heard her laugh before she tackled him flush with the backboard of the bed sitting on his legs and pinning his arms above him to the wall. Before he could think her mouth was covering his own feverishly but with teasingly long and tantalizingly slow movements nipping his lower lip after each kiss as if to say she didn't want to let go yet. Her hands no longer held his wrists but intertwined with his fingers above their heads as she tightened her legs on either side of his hips and licking the shell of his ear. He groaned at the knowledge of her bare skin on the other side of the thin white wife-beater he was wearing. Getting his point the orange eyed female almost immediately running her fingers down his toned, pale chest. Very light dustings of freckles were barely noticeable through the darkness and she couldn't help but grin into his usually bright sky blue eyes that were now more of a stormy colour in his arousal. He didn't speak as he ran his fingers up the curves of her stomach and to her neck to pull her to him. And she liked that. That comfortable silence. The silence between them with the sounds of the world perishing on the television behind their position on the bed. It was perfect, in the midst of the chaos. Perfection from confusion. The few other men she'd taken the small amount of time to bother with had been talkative, blabbered about nothing that meant anything but Walter seemed to know she didn't want to talk. Seemed to know that all she wanted was to get as close as physically possible without melting into him.

He wasn't good for her. He knew that more than anything. He was emotionally unstable. Brash, crude, rude, violent, overprotective, rough around the edges and lacked major control. In fact, in his mind and the outside view of many, Walter Kovacs was the worst possible thing for Desdemona Blake. He was no good for her as Walter or as Rorschach, how she accepted one was a miracle; the fact that she accepted both was like turning oxygen into gold. No. Walter Kovacs was not good for Desdemona Blake. He knew that. She knew it too. But she wouldn't admit it. And, so long as she wouldn't, neither would he. Well…not out loud at least.

* * *

Walter awoke for the second time that day and blinked when his vision wasn't quite as clear as it should have been. It took him a few moments before he realized he'd fallen asleep with his mask still on. Breathing in deeply he caught the delicate smell of Lavender and Roses and immediately thought of the night before as he lounged back in his only stuffed chair and shed the mask like a second skin running a hand through his fiery hair. All of his clothes smelled of her as if he didn't think of her enough as it were. As if he didn't find himself catching small hints of her shampoos and the lotions and smell of grave roses she'd had on her since the day they'd buried The Comedian. Through the day, on the street, in the alleys, now she was invading at night when he slept. The last thing he needed was her scent all over his clothing…the last thing he would do would be wash it off purposefully. Outside, as he reached for his journal and pencil, a group of gang members were spray painting a couple kissing in a door way. Walter cocked his head and thought of one of the Enquirers he'd seen at the newsstand talking about haunting in America.

_Rorschach's Journal: October 21, 1985_

He stopped and stared at the page not quite sure what to write. Should he write about what he did? Should he lie and say he felt filthy, say that he had had a weak moment and let Walter slip through Rorschach's grip again and allowed his common temptations loose for a short period of time in his exhaustion? Say that Desdemona Allison Blake had managed to seduce him like a common whore. Could he write that? And should he choose not to lie should he write it at all? Or should he keep that to himself? If he wrote it down he felt he could never bring himself to erase it and it would forever be there, anytime he opened his journal, in his own scratchy handwriting and he could not…knew he would not erase it. Maybe if he didn't write it and kept it neatly tucked and folded somewhere deep in the back of his mind and if it showed itself, Dezzi and all, sometimes in his dreams in the sanctity of his home, 'well, he couldn't control those anyway' he would tell himself. And maybe after such dreams, left over debris of second thoughts, and well after Dezzi had taken her leave from the city or the world began folding in on itself he would forget and the memory would erase itself in a way he could never bring himself to do so if he wrote it down. He closed his journal and put it down while he got dressed in his day clothes. His entry would just have to wait until later.

* * *

"`God save thee, ancient Mariner !  
From the fiends, that plague thee thus !--  
Why look'st thou so ?'--With my cross-bow  
I shot the ALBATROSS."

The Irishman was singing to the city again. His hands still black as coal and his freckles still hidden under soot. His white teeth shone behind blackened lips and he grinned just as carelessly as before. Just as he had every day his entire life and would continue to do until he could no longer sing or find the energy to smile. In his left hand a newspaper headline screamed IS DEATH UPON US? as the filth on his skin smeared the ink with dirt. "Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks" He felt the prying eyes across the street and glanced through the traffic and met Dezzi's eyes with a look of understanding that made her stop from turning away. He gave a quaint nod and his voice became louder over the sound of the city for the audience as he continued on his way tossing the paper into the trash at fortieth and seventh.

"Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross  
About my neck was hung."

Dezzi glanced at her mother's cross nestled beneath her shirt. An albatross would have been more fitting.


	21. Between the Shoulders of Men

thank you very much for the comments

keep them coming please. they are appreciated.

* * *

Dezzi crossed the street without much notice of the horns and shouts of the taxi drivers. To her left she noticed the newspaper that had belonged to the Irishman lying neatly on top of the rest of the trash. Picking it up she snapped it open like she remembered Eddie doing. Her mother said her father did it too. From somewhere in the folds of the grey tinted paper a smaller crudely ripped paper fell. She bent to pick it up but what was written on it stopped her from throwing it back into the trashcan with the newspaper. Rushing to the stand she had just left Dezzi barely gave the owner time to greet her again. "Have you seen Walter yet today?" "Yeah, in fact, he was just here. Went that way." He pointed to his left and watched her sprint off.

As the sidewalks grew more congested Dezzi had to slow and jump up to see over the heads above her in an attempt to get a glance of a sign or bright orange hair. She ignored the rude remark of a business man she accidentally bumped into and ran a hand through her hair. Just as she was about to completely give up a hand to her right grabbed her arm and hauled her into an alley. Fists balled she twisted for a left hook stopping just short of the freckled nose set between two unflinching eyes below two raised eyebrows all under the ownership of one Walter Kovacs.

"Jumpy today." He stated simply, holding her wrist perhaps a little longer than really necessary. "You expect to grab a crime fighter, yank them into an alley and no at least almost get punched?"

He shrugged a little causing his sign to move with his shoulders. She sighed and resisted the urge to hug him. The alley way settled into a silence and neither seemed to know what to say next. Bother were thinking of the same thing but neither wanted to mention what had happened between them and whatever magnetism they had had in that moment, though still there, seemed momentarily polarized by the tension and swelling of the city. So they both stood for a few moments, Walter's eyes wandering over the nearby graffiti and Dezzi staring at him trying to remember what she was doing there in the first place as she tried to block out the memory of his hands which were almost gloved from her sight. "Oh," it dawned on her, somewhere between the memory his hands and her fiddling with her necklace, the reason she'd been hunting him. "I found this." Rummaging through her pocket to find him the paper she pulled out her hand. She noticed in her half outstretched hand her fortune had gotten caught in the folds and neatly picked it out putting it back in its place.

"It was in the trash at 40th and 7th."

His hollow cheeks twitched and he snatched, perhaps a little too quickly, the paper from her hand. "From Moloch." Dezzi shook her head and the Walter's urge to gripe at her intruding ways grew. "The Irishman." "_The_ Irishman..?" "Yes. He's this guy who sings-shut up. Don't give me that look. It doesn't matter. _An_ Irishman dropped it into the trash can. And that's not Moloch's handwriting." "How do you know?" "I dated a handwriting analyzer for a while, learned a few things. And Moloch wrote his phone number down for me. That's not his handwriting, Walter." Walter felt the newly familiar pang of jealousy mix with his already natural territorial nature and he had to force himself to focus on what she said after 'I dated.'

"It's a trap. I'd bet anything." Walter shoved the note into a pocket inside his coat and turned to walk away. "Look! Walter!" Dezzi pushed back her aggravation and chased after unconsciously looking for screws along the walls in case she pushed him too far again. "If you never trust me on anything else. Trust me on this. I've got a knack for these things. At least let me go with you." Walter stopped and Dezzi followed his lead. "Look, the paper said 11:30. I'll meet you here at 11:00 and we'll go together?" The suggestion was left to hang in the air between them with nothing more spoken from either side.

* * *

Dezzi rubbed her bare arms to get the blood flowing. The note had said 11:30. He wasn't showing. She'd known at 10:58 he wasn't going to. If she wanted to be honest with herself (and she didn't) she would admit that she'd known he wasn't going to when she'd came up with the plan. By 11:15 she went against her own good judgment and disappeared into the shadows toward Moloch's home.

* * *

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Rorschach grunted throwing open cabinets as Moloch's soul escaped through the bean sized hole in his forehead. Dezzi was right! Dezzi was right! Dezzi and her handwriting boyfriend were right! Walter's voice raised and grew from his panic in his mind. Gritting his teeth he prepared for the battering ram he knew was coming. Dezzi, right or not, was safely outside the building somewhere and he hoped she was smart enough to stay right there.

* * *

The police sirens could be heard long before Fiasco could even get a glimpse of the apartment building. "Shit." She sped up her pace and stayed on the opposite side of the street where a small herd of siren chasers had gathered.

"What's going on?"

She merged herself within the murmuring hoard.

"No clue."

Dezzi leaned over and stood on her toes for a better look. Between the shoulders of men she could see the medics across the street rolling out a gurney. No remorse on their faces as they discussed breakfast for after their shift. They hadn't even bothered to pull up the white sheet and Moloch's pointed ears were clearly evident even from across the street. This seemed enough satisfaction for the crowd and they dispersed with whispers of 'Poor Mr. Jacobi.' Dezzi stood motionless until everyone had gone and understood there was no sympathy left for the dead. Especially not one poor, defeated, washed out villain. She stayed and felt her own shoulders slump, felt her spine bending and there was no more wall of man, no more shoulders to look over, nor to cry on or to wrap your arms around. There were no shoulders to kiss or for capes to rest upon. She thought of Walter's sign propped upon his shoulders, carrying the inevitable that no one wanted to accept. Fiasco caught the eye of one of the medics and was gone into the night by the time the man could do a double take. She inhaled the crisp air as she ran through the capillaries of the city. If indeed the end was near it would be the shoulders of man that that destruction fell upon, no god. She thought of Moloch and of Eddie and of her mother and of Walter and knew that, no matter what anyone said, they all stood fully on her shoulders.


	22. How Far We've Come

"Dan! Where's Rorschach? I can' find him anywhere."

Dezzi almost pushed Dan over rushing into the door. She had scoured the city high and low and found neither hide nor hair of Walter.

"Murph, Murph. Murph! Calm down! You mean you don't know?"

He grabbed her shoulders and held her still and took notice of how wide her eyes were, how worried.

"Know what, Dan? Know what? What don't I know?"

"Rorschach's been captured. They've got him locked up. It's all over the news."

If it was the only thing that the threat of nuclear war had blessed upon society, it was the gift of 24 hour news. There was no waiting for the six am news now for any late night speed chase or press conference you were on scene moments after live. "What?"

"Dezzi, calm down." "How did he get caught?" "Remember Moloch? They said he shot him." "And you _believed_ them?!" She found it hard to control the level of her voice. "Well I…" "Dan!" "Well! I didn't really think much of it! But, I mean, when you say it like _that_." "I _told_ him not to go alone." "You knew he was going to be there?!" _"Yes!"_

She let out an exasperated sigh. "This is just fucking great. I've got to go." She headed toward the door but her hand froze when the TV in the other room caught her attention. Rorschach, or Walter, a name that Nite Owl had difficulty accepting, was plastered beaten and bruised on the 9'o'clock news.

_'Walter Kovacs, Rorschach, has been apprehended and is being held as a dangerous criminal under two murder charges that we are certain of right now.'_

An angry snort came from the small woman at Daniel's door. "This is what we've come to?"

Dan didn't bother going after her. Knew there was no point. Knew because what she had mumbled to the TV was exactly what he'd asked Walter's bruised eyes when he'd appeared on his screen. Dan shook his head and returned to the desk drawer he'd opened before Dezzi barged in and looked back down into it. A picture of the Minutemen laughed in his face as he tossed newspaper clippings of the Comedian's death and a bent up picture of the Watchmen he used to carry in his wallet. The time-line of the Comedian stood out the most as Dan began closing the drawer.

"Look how far we've come."


End file.
